


void of feeling

by riverdancee



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Blood and Injury, Blue as a dog, Character Death, Coran - Freeform, M/M, Magical Allura, Pidge - Freeform, Pining Lance (Voltron), Romance?, Shay - Freeform, Shiro - Freeform, Unhappy Ending, an animal also dies, confused keith, cursing, dancer!lance, hunk - Freeform, i dont wanna ruin it but i feel the need to tag it so, i love these two so much, i shed a tear writing this, ish, keith has gambling issues, klangst, lessons are: learned, per usual ya know, the following characters have very minor roles, think aladdin but kind of modern?, this is just sad but also kinda touching??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-24 06:04:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13805001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riverdancee/pseuds/riverdancee
Summary: Keith sells his emotions for some desperately needed money, aware they won't come back to him for some time. He's happy with his money, but afraid it won't last him long. That's when he meets a dancer dressed in rags who claims he's the richest person in the world--and he'll teach Keith how to be too.





	1. Sold

**Author's Note:**

> the idea for this fic completely goes to @writing.prompt.s on instagram!!! i hope yall enjoy it!! this is my first klance fic ahhh. these two ridiculous boys were so fun to write and i feel bad putting them through all this lol but im happy with it! posting this now to kind of celebrate season 5 coming to ruin me and my well being along with the rest of the fandom hahA.

The streets of Altea smell a horrid mix of warm pastries and cow manure. Dust flies into the air like birds as carts and carriages pass by the busy marketplace. Loud shouting that promotes vendor’s items blends with the constant neighs of horses and wheels passing over pebbles. The sun beats down on the people, as if its rays were arrows being shot from a distance. Altea is a terrible place to live, but it offers something no other city does.

And Keith is out to find it.

He travels these streets on foot, looking out for the booth an old man told him would have what he needs. It’s supposed to be a wooden table posted in front of a white tent, selling alcohol as a disguise. A woman with dark skin and white hair is the vendor. Keith keeps an eye out for it, praying the delirious man with the orange mustache wasn’t playing tricks on him. He needs this money desperately, and this is the only way he can get it.

He begins to believe it’s hopeless as he walks. Locating her is what seems impossible. He’s gone down these streets for  _ years, _ has memorized what lies past every turn and fork in the road, yet has never seen what that man had described.

That’s when he hears it. The voice of a woman, selling alcohol.

Keith’s head whips around, dying to find her in the middle of the road. He accidentally bumps into people walking past him and gets in the way of one too many carriages, but he finds it. Next to a watermelon stand is a woman dressed in a pink gown that covers her arms and has a circle neckline. Two strands of white hair tie behind her head as the rest of her locks fall around her shoulders. Her aqua eyes shine like diamonds against her skin and she smiles as she sings about the types of alcohol in her inventory.

Keith stumbles towards her booth. He slams his hands down on the table and looks at her with wild eyes. She looks him up and down, taking in the brown long sleeve shirt tucked into his black pants and the auburn red messenger bag that crosses his chest. She tilts her head.

“I’ve never seen purple eyes before,” she croons. Her accent is just like the locals of Altea. “I usually am able to recommend types of alcohol depending on the buyer’s eye color, but you pose a challenge. Is there anything in mind that you’d like to try?” She begins taking out bottles of alcohol from under her table to suggest.

“No need,” Keith says, leaning in a little closer. “I have something to sell.”

The woman freezes, her eyes shifted away from him, and then she slowly begins to put the bottles back. “Not many people come to me to sell, usually to buy. What kind of alcohol would a man like you have made for me to include in my stock?”

“Cut the alcohol act,” he demands, pounding his fist to grab her attention. She looks him in the eyes. “I know what you  _ really  _ sell, and I have some to give up.”

She blinks, then heavily sighs. “You couldn’t just buy some alcohol, could you?” she mutters. She crosses her arms and leans back in her chair. “Yes, I sell emotions. What do you want?”

“I don’t want any. I want to sell mine to you.” Keith lowers his voice to a whisper. “You’re the only one in Altea who can perform the magic. I heard you give a hefty price.”

The woman blows a raspberry up at the sky. Mockingly lowering her voice to a whisper, she says, “You know, many people don’t come  _ selling _ their emotions to me. In fact, I highly don’t recommend it. I usually send them to other emotion vendors, deviate them to  _ buy _ emotions, or better yet,  _ alcohol, _ like my actual business. But, I look at you and your stupid raven hair, and see you’re as stubborn as an alcoholic with dry taste buds. If I can’t interest you in some alcohol, can’t I try interesting you in emotions?”

Keith slyly smiles and shakes his head. She rolls her eyes, pulls a basket of alcohol out from under her table, stands, and heads towards the entrance of her tent. “Follow me, mullet,” she commands, her pink dress flowing as she walks. He lifts his legs over the table and follows her footsteps.

Inside the white tent are  _ shelves _ of bottles of alcohol, all color coded and arranged by size, reaching the very top. He sees the similarity in packaging of each drink, even from such a distance. They stand vertically in bunches. The woman drags her basket to a corner then heads to the back of the tent, where a single post holds up the end of the facility.

“Still not interested in any alcohol?” she asks again, raising her arms high to present her various alcohols. Her voice gets farther and farther away from Keith, who stands still at the entry.

Keith isn’t much of a drinker. He’s addicted to something else, something that won’t ruin the inside of his body, which is why he’s here for money. “Not at all,” he calls back to her.

She reaches the post. Within it must be a secret indent, because she opens up a latch and a single lever juts out. She pulls it down and Keith watches the bottles of alcohol flip and disappear behind the shelf. Replacing them are jars containing colorful wisps of air inside, each color coded and labeled according to…

“Tada!” she sings jokingly. “Emotions.” She makes her way back to Keith, pointing at different color sections. “Red is bottled up anger, blue is sadness, orange is calmness, pink is love, green is disgust, black is drunkenness, blah, blah, blah.” She pokes her index finger at Keith’s chest. “You sure you don’t want to buy any of these?”

Keith looks at the array of colors on the shelves, only so she thinks she’s promoting well, then firmly nods.

She crosses her arms as she reaches him. “So you want to sell me your emotions.”

“Yes,” he responds, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his pants.

“Which one?”

Keith had spent no time deciding which emotions he wanted to give up. They were easy choices to make and he could see himself without them. “Sadness and love.”

The woman purses her lips and wags a finger at him. “Ah, I said which  _ one,  _ not which  _ ones. _ ”

“I’d like to sell both.”

She doesn’t respond. Instead, she seems to be observing his face, wondering why he would do such a thing. She uncrosses her arms and folds them behind her back. “You’re not the first one to want to sell more than one emotion,” she begins, walking circles around her customer. “I have allowed many to do so. Many have also ran away from it. When someone wants to sell one emotion, all I require is they buy a bottle of alcohol and go. When someone wants to sell  _ more _ than one, they must answer a series of questions. Several have feared the questioning process and backed away. Several have also gone through with it, as you can tell by the mere abundance of emotions I have stacked on my shelf. Each question must be answered honestly. Don’t try to lie, because I can sniff it out like a mouse, and will refuse the right to serve you.” She stops beside him and whispers into his ear. “Are you willing to do that?”

What bad could some questions do? It’s not like Keith has much to hide anyways. He’s not scandalous. In fact, he distances himself from everyone as much as possible. Nothing like a few questions could harm him. “Ask away,” he says.

The woman resumes walking around him. “Why are you selling your emotions?”

“I need money.”

“And why do you need money?”

“I owe someone money.”

“Why do you owe them money?”

He lowers his voice. “I lost a bet.”

She clicks her tongue, making the connection. “Do you gamble?”

Keith swallows. “Yes,” he admits. It’s not a nice addiction, but he thinks it’s better than being addicted to alcohol.

She walks past him, shaking her head in disapproval. “Alright, then, why do you want to sell your sadness?”

“Oh, easy,” he laughs off. Keith has dealt with sadness for too long. “Why would I want to feel sad? No one wants to feel sad. It makes you feel worthless, like there’s nothing to look forward to in life. I don’t want to feel that, I want to  _ get rid _ of that.”

She nods her head in agreement. “That is one of the better reasons I’ve encountered. Most tell me they want to get rid of the sadness they feel after someone they love has died. Don’t you think you need sadness to feel, say, happiness?”

Keith scoffs. “Happiness comes and goes, ma’am. Sadness stays like a scar.”

“Scars are memorials to wars,” the white-haired woman reasons.

“And wars leave more than death,” Keith bites back.

She closes her eyes in disagreement and continues her interrogation instead of debating. “Then why sell your love?”

“I’m not falling in love anytime soon, Miss.”

“Oh, you fool, there’s more to love than just romance!” she exclaims, throwing her arms forward. “There’s love for a hobby, love for an animal, love for an apple. Why would you get rid of it?”

Keith shrugs. He’s never felt love towards  _ anything, _ really. “Just don’t need it.”

She pauses in front of him, craning her neck to face him. “Then, are you aware of what happens when you  _ sell _ these emotions?”

“No,” he answers. The man with the mustache hadn’t gone into much detail. He told Keith that, despite the whole world knowing emotions could be sold and bought, only a selected few could perform the process of bottling them up. There was only one vendor he knew of in Altea and he gave him directions. That was it.

“When I bottle up your emotions,” she explains, resuming her circumambulation, “you are void of feeling them for several months. For example, a customer sold me his disgust. The next time I saw him, he had gained hundreds of pounds because nothing that touched his tongue made him wince. Everything to him was appealing, even the most grotesque of scenes. But when your emotions return, they hit you like gusts of wind—all at once. That customer had thrown up for hours when he realized the disgusting things he put in his mouth. So, if you  _ should _ feel sadness or love while your emotions are gone, they will hurt when they return.”

It seemed daunting, but it couldn’t be terrible. There’s no way he could obtain any love or sadness while these emotions were taken from him, so when they came back, it wouldn’t hurt him. Hell, Keith was solid. He smiles at the woman. “I’m okay with that.”

Her feet take her away from Keith and to a shelf. She bends down to grab two empty jars, then returns to her customer. She places each jar to the side of her and begins stretching her arms. “Then we are ready to begin.”  _ Crack! _ her fingers go. “It’ll be temporary pain, what you experience. As if all the blood in your body gushes out your throat, but that’s not what happens! It’s just a feeling. I’ll perform two different enchantments on you, each different for the emotion. All I ask of you is to stand still with your hands to your side and feet shoulder-length apart. Close your eyes. We’ll start with sadness first.”

Keith chucks his hands out of his pockets and holds them still to his side. He spreads his feet apart and closes his eyes, waiting for her to begin the process.

She begins to hum a song in a range so high, his ears would pop if she began singing. He can hear her feet move against the dusty floor of the tent. Keith waits and waits,  _ begging _ for her to hurry up so he doesn’t regret this, and then his mouth falls open. It’s like his blood is rushing  _ up, up, up  _ and out of his mouth. His feet are grounded, yet he swears he’ll start soaring if this goes on any longer. His head tilts up and he  _ feels _ air travel up his throat and swift pass his teeth. His heart is telling him to stop, to open his eyes and fall to the ground and  _ keep his damn sadness _ , but his brain is sending a different message. His brain is reminding him of the money he owes, of the freedom of not being sad, or the sheer joy he’ll have for the next couple of months.

Then it dies down and disappears. Keith’s eyes open wide and he can feel the sweat trickling down his arms. His legs still stand and the pain isn’t there anymore. It feels like he spent an hour out in the sun, but his skin stayed unscorched. He stares at the woman guide with her fingers a blue swirl of air into the jar on her right. She tightly screws the lid on, then gets back to stretching.

“I’ve been told getting rid of love hurts the most!” she warns, grasping her hands behind her back and lifting them up. “They say it’s like throwing up lava, that your skin feels like it’s boiling and your hair is burning.”

Keith won’t admit getting rid of sadness hurt, nor will he admit that the next task sounds daunting and he wants out. “Fire is my strong suit,” he nonchalantly says. He’s a blacksmith, after all.

“Then,” she begins, cracking her knuckles one by one, “get back into position.”

Keith readies himself again, mentally preparing for the pain he is about to experience. Why does love have to hurt so much? What kind of pain will someone experience for loss of love? Keith always thought people made such a big deal out of it. Imagine crying for days because someone you were with didn’t want to be with you anymore? Keith can’t, because it’s stupid. Love is for those who are weak to their emotions, who wouldn’t dare sell them on the market.

Keith isn’t weak.

The wait this time isn’t long. It’s immediate _. _ It feels like his chest is expanding and he can hear his heartbeat thump in his chest. His blood evaporates into thin air and his skin does boil. If he could look, he would see the bubbles forming and bursting. The fire in his hair gets closer and closer to his scalp and the heat is too intense, it’s too much to take and  _ hell, he should just keep his damn love too _ but his brain is back at it again, telling him there’s no point in keeping it, that he’s never felt it before, that he won’t feel it now, and that he needs the money. As the said lava travels up his throat, his mouth drops open. He wants to scream in agony, ball his hands up into fists and punch this pink-dressed woman in the eye. He feels the gush of air swift past his teeth again, and the pain simmers down. His eyes open and his knees buckle below him. He finds himself on the ground seconds later, blurry vision following pink air into a jar.

Arms tuck themselves under Keith’s pits and pull him up on his feet. His head weighs down, but he manages to find his balance. She takes the jars to their designated location on the shelves, making sure to label them before she places them. The woman disappears behind a shelf, then comes back to him with three thick stacks of bills.

“Unless you owe all the riches of King Alfor,” she grins, handing him the money, “then this should be enough to get you out of trouble.”

Keith stuffs it into his messenger bag, knowing it’s enough just at a glance. “Thank you, miss….”

She pushes her white hair over her shoulders. “Just Miss. I don’t give my name out so freely.”

Keith tilts his head and frowns. “I understand.”

Miss puts her hand on his shoulder and begins to walk him out. He feels quite nice now that he’s done this. As if it’s a new backbone. It’s security.

“Does the emotion market treat you well?” Keith asks her, not getting the image of all those jars out of his head. “Business wise?”

“Oh, I have returning customers every hour!” she shows off with a bright smile. “People are always looking to feel a certain way, whether it be because they haven’t felt it in sometime, need it at a certain event, or want it just in case. Drunkenness and happiness are my best sellers.”

Keith’s brows scrunch together in confusion. “You sell alcohol. Why is drunkenness a best seller?”

“Past alcoholics wanting the feeling of drunkenness again.”

They return back into the open, busy streets of Altea. The smell and noise hits him all at once, like it does daily. 

“Let’s say I want to buy emotions some time in the future,” Keith sets up, making his way over to the other side of the table. Who knows if he’ll need them? “What’s the code?”

The miss smiles at him. “Order Nunvill,” she answers.

******


	2. The Dancer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith meets the dancer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNCCCCCCCCCEEEEEEEEEE  
> (and some fluff. and one tagged character death.)  
> also the planets are cities, in case it confuses you :)

Keith paid his debt and has never felt more free. No sadness to plague him. Love was never there, so he doesn’t even feel its disappearance. He hasn’t gambled away his money, and for the first time in a  _ long _ time, he bought himself a loaf of bread without begging someone passing by for spare change. This is good _. _

The only thing popping up in his head is how he’s going to get more cash.

It felt good to have cash. To be able to have money of his own! To pay for himself, to worry for himself, to gamble without losing it all. What would he have to do to be rich?

Keith ponders this as he eats his bread against a wall. A job in Altea won’t make him rich. The only rich people in the capital is probably the king and that emotions vendor. That  _ has _ to make her a lot of money. He watches the marketplace’s density increase, which is only ordinary for this time of day. The sun is bright and nice, but it isn’t hot. It’s a good temperature for such a dry area. Biting into his bread, he realizes he wouldn’t have to sit through this everyday if he were rich. He could shut real windows in a real house and it’d be mute.

But this is his life: roaming the dusty roads of Altea’s largest marketplace because he only works twice a week, scraping on food because it doesn’t pay him enough, and watching the people go on about their day. Nothing has changed except for the extra cash in his messenger bag and the want to keep it that way.

More dust flies into the air on the streets and voices sneer at a certain someone. Keith leans forward to see what’s going on and watches the crowd create a pathway. A cloud of dust rises between them and the outline of a dancing figure appears. It breaks through the dust with a twirl, arms waving gallantly in the air.

The dancer is a young man with tan skin, brown hair framing his forehead and big ears sticking out. He’s dressed in rags, covered with patches that don’t match the original color. The base color of his baggy shirt is beige with sleeves rolled up to his elbow. Its top buttons are undone, revealing his sun kissed chest, and it’s only tucked in halfway. He wears navy blue trousers with small holes everywhere and brown peasant shoes that tie up and flare out a little at his ankle. He’s tall and skinny, not at all muscular, and moves like a leaf in a breeze. He dances on his tiptoes and closes his eyes, a smile displayed on his lips the whole time.

He opens his eyes and sees around him. Keith thinks he looks graceful, despite his attire, and he can’t look away. The dancer catches his staring and smirks. Keith takes a bite of his bread as the dancer makes his way to the space in front of him, putting on a performance for the blacksmith.

The dancer outstretches one leg behind him and bends the other at the knee. He puts his hands on his chest and pushes out. Then, he straightens his bent leg, lifts his other, and spins. Keith watches the circle below his foot form. When he puts his foot in the air down, it’s towards Keith. He spins his way to him, feet taking big steps, and then he jumps fluidly in the air like a gazelle. Once back on the ground, he continues to spin. Keith is too late to further their distance, and before he knows it, the dancer is on one knee and directly in front of him. His face takes up his vision. Keith would be lying if he said he didn’t like the view. This up close, Keith takes note of the slight curls at the end of each strand and the small chunks of hair that stick out behind his neck. His pointy nose is inches away from his own. The dancer’s eyes are light blue—small irises but big in shape. They gaze at him with something Keith can’t pinpoint.

“Can I help you?” the dancer asks, beaming at him.

Keith swallows. He’s beautiful, really, and he’d like to watch him dance some more. His voice is stuck in his throat, but he needs to say something to look like less of an idiot. 

“W-Want some bread?” he stutters, tilting his bitten loaf of bread towards the dancer. What a  _ stupid _ question. 

Blue eyes look down at the food and he rips a piece of it off. He leans back and sits down with Keith, to his surprise.

“Did you like my dancing?” he asks as he pops the piece of bread in his mouth.

Keith blinks, then nods slowly. He’s nervous around this man. Why is he nervous? It’s not like Keith’s never been around attractive people. He doesn’t get flustered by dancers. Maybe the heat is getting to him. Are there side effects to selling your emotions? That’s got to be it.

“If you walk with me, I can show you some more,” he offers, dusting off his trousers. “I came from Earth, so I’ve only been in Altea for a few days and am still getting to know the city. Do you know it well?”

Keith nods again, offering another piece to the dancer. The dancer gladly takes it with a wide smile.

“Well then, you’ll be my tour guide. Let’s get going!” he cheers, standing up and extending his hand. Keith stares at his slender fingers, telling himself that maybe he should just keep to himself, stay as far away from people he doesn’t know. He doesn’t want to get up either. And he shouldn’t be sharing his bread! He bought this for  _ himself! _ Why share it with some dancer? He can get his  _ own _ bread. He can discover Altea on his  _ own. _

But those blue eyes are quite convincing.

He holds his hand and the dancer lifts him up. Keith wipes himself down and looks up at the other. He’s only a few inches shorter than him. If they were standing further away from each other, it wouldn’t be noticeable. The dancer giggles at him and drags him into the busy streets. Keith loses focus because he’s caught up with this dancer—he’s all he sees. People yell at him to move and carriages barely manage to steer away from him, but his eyes stay stuck on the dancer. These have  _ got _ to be side effects.

“I’m Lance, by the way,” the dancer introduces, deciding to dance next to him instead of ahead. There’s a bounce to his feet and he spins with his hands clasped behind his back. “You?”

“Keith,” he replies, repeating in his head the other’s name.  _ Lance. _

“How long have you lived here, Keith?” he asks, crossing over in front of him with little jumps. He turns to face him and listen.

“I moved here when I was a baby. I don’t think there was a time I was never in Altea.”

“How come you don’t have the accent?”

“My parents didn’t, and we stuck close as a family. I just didn’t obtain the accent.”

Lance cranes his head to the side, as if he’s noticed something, and gives him a slight smile. “You’re from Daibazaal, aren’t you?”

Keith’s eyes widen, then he nods. No one ever guesses correctly. Daibazaal, being such a small city compared Earth and Altea, is never what comes to people’s mind. For Lance to have thought it is a surprise.

Lance hums loudly, creating his own music to dance to. Pedestrians roll their eyes as he interrupts their stride. Keith, in return, glares at them. “Is there any reason you would want to leave Altea?” 

Easy.

“A stable job. Better income.”

Lance laughs aloud, turning to face Keith and dance backwards. “Purple Eyes has money problems, does he?”

_ Purple Eyes? _ How has Lance already given him a nickname? Maybe he should call him Blue Eyes. See how he likes  _ that. _

Keith shies away. “I do.” He looks over Lance’s raggedy outfit, wondering how he has the right to ask him that question. “Don’t you, too?”

Lance purses his lips and his arms sway at his side. “Me? No! I’m the richest person in the world!”

Keith stumbles forward when he says that. His eyes widen at the dancer, who smiles without a care in the world and moves as one with nature. Lance looks  _ far _ from rich. The dirty clothes he wears, the patches lazily sewn into his shirt, the holes in his trousers that grow with every twirl he makes, the dirt that stains his gorgeous skin….he’s not  _ rich. _ What would he be doing dancing on the streets? Accepting bread from a stranger? Lance would be  _ flaunting _ his wealth.

He’s lying.

“I don’t believe you,” Keith states, crossing his arms.

Lance laughs again and pauses his dancing. “Do you think I’m one to show off?” he questions. “I have other ways of showing I’m rich. If I come out here looking like I’m King Alfor, then I won’t be liked.”

Keith raises a brow. “Then you can  _ prove _ to me you’re rich, right?”

“Yes,” he says, stopping in his tracks. He jabs a finger at Keith’s chest and grins. “I can  _ teach  _ you how to be rich.”

Keith blinks. It’s like a higher deity heard him earlier and gave him Lance. Someone who could  _ teach _ him to be rich, to show him how to constantly not be in debt. Lance doesn’t seem like the person to let everyone know he’s rich—to disguise himself as a simple person on the streets, see who will befriend him for being  _ him. _ “You? Teach me how to be rich?”

“Yes! I meet you where I met you today. How about we start tomorrow morning?”

Keith grins. “That’s fine with me.”

******

Lance was not rich at all, Keith learned. It took him two days to find out. He caught Lance stealthily stealing fruit from a stand, then pick-pocketing a businessman, and even getting food from a dog’s bowl to give to a stray named Blue. Everytime he steals, Keith reminds him that he can  _ buy _ it for him. Altea is far from nice to thieves, so Lance had better watch his poor ass. But, time after time, he convinced himself he was rich. How was he rich? Keith didn’t know. He asked Lance countless times again, “You’re not rich, are you?” and the response was always, “Keith, I am the richest man in the world!”

Keith would have left him. He would have decided to not meet him at the rendezvous site ever again. He would have spent longer hours at work, hammering away at hot metal. He would have told him off for lying to him. Lance insisted he was wealthy. 

The thing is, he doesn’t seem to be lying. The grin on his face, the happy dance he makes, he  _ had _ to be rich. No one that happy can’t be. And Keith liked spending time with him, despite him wanting to stay away from new people. Lance had spent these past three weeks simply getting to know Keith better, and Keith has gotten better acquainted with Lance as well. Lance just went on and on about himself and there was no stopping him. It didn’t bother Keith.

Lance’s favorite color is blue, he loves animals more than anything, and he hates liars (the irony). Apples are his favorite fruit, he’ll eat any kind of bread he can get his hands on, and he left his family behind over six years ago. He was born in Earth and has lived in that city until he was a teenager. He decided to move to Naxzela and has lived in four different cities since then. He decided to return to Earth some time ago. He didn’t get into contact with his family because he thought they would become an obstacle in this journey he was taking (which he refused to give Keith details about, saying it was “too cheesy”). Lance is in Altea now because he thought the capital would offer something more for him.

Yet, he lives on the street, in an alleyway between two buildings, and has made himself a little tent with three long sticks and a quilt as a roof cover. It’s quite different from the tiny room Keith rents out. To be honest, he prefers spending the night in that tent over the wonky bed that squeaks with every breath he takes.

He started sleeping in that tent on accident. It was just another day that he spent out with Lance until he got home and realized he left his keys in his room. It was past midnight and he couldn’t go banging on the manager’s door without getting evicted the next morning. Lance had laughed at him that night, teasing him until he realized how annoyed and panicked Keith was. He offered his tent, saying there was more than enough room for two. His options were scarce, so he took it up. Soon than later he created the bad habit of staying over at Lance’s when he was out too late, whether he had his keys or not.

It’s dawn and Altea’s marketplace is clearing out. Shops are closing and everyone’s going home with baskets filled to the brim with food. Lance eyes them as they walk down the street. 

Keith has something in mind. 

He holds his hand and begins walking faster. Looking back, he sees Lance staring at their intertwined fingers with his mouth slightly parted. Blue eyes look up at him.

“Where are we going?” Lance asks him, catching up to his speed. “I’m the teacher here, Purple Eyes.”

“You’re not stealing food today,” Keith says, grinning at him. “There’s somewhere I want to take you.”

Soon enough, they’re running together, Lance taking every opportunity he can to jump and get ahead. Keith keeps an eye out for the bar, and once he latches onto the sight of it, Keith slows down to a walk, waiting for Lance to dance his way to him at the dead end. The sun is gone now and all that lights the streets are the lamps turned on at the door of each building. It’s quite dim, but it shines Lance like a spotlight. He sees the space out in front of him set out like a stage, and he’s very tempted to perform, but decides against it. Keith is a little disappointed.

Keith decides Lance is walking too slow, so he jogs up to him, grabs his wrist, and pulls him into the bar at the dead end. Yellow light floods the room when he pushes the door open. A few people are sitting at the bar and one circular table is occupied. The bar is usually full, but today is different. A few people sit at the bar and all the tables are empty. A full band plays softly at the corner of the room. He looks to the right of him and almost gets whiplash at how beautiful Lance is, even in his old rags. His brown hair sticks up in random places due to the running and his cheeks are flushed. His blue eyes wondrously gaze at the band like he’s never seen a performance before. Has Lance always been like this? Always managed to look like this so effortlessly?

It’s unfair. Something about Lance is unfair. Everytime he looks at him, he wants to feel something. He wants to come to terms with it, to accept it, but it’s not there. It confuses him. What is there to feel besides their friendship? Keith is happy when he’s around, so what is missing? Do other people feel what he’s missing out on? Did the white haired woman make a mistake when she extracted his emotions? God, what  _ is _ it?

“Want to sit near the band?” Keith asks him.

Lance holds Keith’s hand this time and pulls him over to a table close enough to the band. He’s giddy to be here and can’t keep himself still. Something dawns on Lance, and he faces him head on. “Keith, I don’t have the money for this,” he says, taking his seat at the table anyways. “We can just sit back and listen to the music if you want?”

Keith smiles. “Don’t worry about it,” he comforts. “I’ll go get us a drink and some food.”

Keith makes his way to the bar with a bounce in his step. He hasn’t wasted all of his money from his emotion selling since he’s been distracted by Lance. He orders the usual—a basket of cheese sticks with some dipping sauce and two bottles of Altean beer. Digging for the money out of his messenger bag, he pays the exact amount and waits. From the bar, he glances over his shoulder to watch Lance. He bobs his head to the beat of the rhythmic music and taps his fingers. He smiles at the scene, but feels nothing.

Keith  _ should _ be feeling something.

The food is out and Keith takes it back to their table. Lance gleams at the cheese sticks and licks his lips, rubbing his hands together. They feast in silence, their attention mostly taken up by the soft music in their ears.

They sit and listen when they’re done. It’s peaceful to be idly with Lance. It isn’t awkward or boring. Keith takes his time to admire him. The light shines on one side of his face, making his skin golden. When he smiles, his teeth show, and when the song begins to get a little more melodic, he starts tapping his feet. Keith likes seeing this.

“Never thought I’d see The Dancer anywhere but the streets,” someone says nearby their table. Keith turns to look at the side and sees a tall, lean man, about their age, crossing his arms and smirking at Lance. The wrinkled suit and messy brown hair suggests he just got out of work. His jaw is sharp and his brown eyes mesh nicely with his medium tone. Keith has never seen him around—and Keith has lived here long enough to know everyone’s face—so he’s iffy about him.

Keith looks back at Lance, who smiles at the man in return. His heart sinks a little. “The Dancer?” Lance repeats, tapping his feet faster.

The man pulls out a chair from their table and takes a seat, leaning forward to flash a smile. “That’s your name around Altea. Do you like the music?”

Keith knows what he’s doing. He doesn’t like it. He wants to make sure Lance knows what he’s doing too, and whether he’s comfortable with that or not.

“I love the music!” Lance answers, nodding his head. He seems oblivious. “Good for dancing.”

“Then,” the man begins, extending his hand out to Lance, “may I have this dance?”

Lance blinks at the hand, staying silent. His feet stop tapping and the smile on his face drops. Keith looks between the two. Lance is beginning to look distant. He also doesn’t want to be rude and shut him down. Keith knows that much about Lance. He has a hard time turning people down in fear of hurting their feelings.

The man, on the other hand, keeps his flirting act up. Keith will admit, just this man’s face is enough to garner someone’s full attention. But besides that? He’s doing everything wrong. He started the conversation well, but he’s too headstrong, didn’t ask enough questions first, and it’s probably not something Lance likes, if his silence says anything. Though Keith is terrible at flirting, at least he knows the basics.

There’s also the fact that Keith doesn’t want him dancing with a stranger. It’s quite normal to dance with strangers, really, but this is  _ Keith’s _ night with Lance. He’s right here, sitting next to him! For this businessman to ignore him is ridiculous. Keith brought him here so  _ he _ could do something nice for him. Lance has already done so much for him. It’s about time he does this.

He has to take action.

“No,” he states. The man looks away from Lance to eye Keith, anger bundling up. Keith digs his hand through his messenger bag and whips out a dollop of cash. The man’s eyes widen. Lance nudges Keith’s side, whispering something he can’t hear well. “I’d like to dance with him too, and I heard it comes with a price.”

The man slams his extended hand down on the table and smiles at Keith. This doesn’t phase him one bit. “Money isn’t a problem with me.” His other hand takes out a bigger stack of cash from his pocket and slides it over to Lance. Lance follows the movement and lightly shakes his head.

“It’s not a problem with me  _ either, _ ” Keith fights back, finding another roll in his bag. He takes it out and places it next to his first stack. “But just how much cash do you have on you for this dance?”

The man gapes at the money, then gives a wild look at Lance. “Do I have to pay to get a simple dance with you?” he asks bewilderedly. “I thought my looks would be enough to hit it off.”

Keith chuckles and shakes his head. “You’ve never gambled before, have you? Looks don’t matter.” He leans over the table and grins at the man he’s successfully beat. “Money does. It’s a service.”

The man angrily gets up from his seat, chair falling back behind him, and storms off. Keith’s shoulders shake as he laughs, then takes the money the other left behind. He stuffs it in his messenger bag and checks Lance. His face is blank. Now Keith is worried.

“Did I do something wrong?” Keith asks him nervously. “Did...did you want to dance with him?”

Lance doesn’t respond, just looks soullessly at the table.

“You didn’t look comfortable with the situation,” Keith does his best to reason. “I didn’t want you to dance with him because you were afraid to reject him. Or is that how you usually respond to people who ask to dance with you? I wouldn’t know, I’ve never seen you dance with anyone and I’ve been hanging around with you for weeks so I wasn’t completely sure. I-I can give him back his money!” Keith gives him a nervous smile, but it starts to wither as he sees there’s no change in Lance’s face. “Did I mess up?”

Lance turns in his seat and leans closer to Keith. “Do you have some spare change?” he whispers.

_ What? _

Keith is out here panicking about his reaction, and that’s what he asks? Of course he has some money, he just won a whole wad of it from a businessman. He isn’t sure what to expect. He takes out a couple coins and bills from his pocket and hands them over to Lance. He grins at him.

“Thanks, Purple Eyes.” He gets up and out of his chair, striding towards the musicians. The trumpet player puts his instrument down and tilts closer to Lance. He whispers something in his ear, then the player takes the money and finishes up the song. The musician talks to the rest of his group and Lance returns.

He extends his hand to Keith, smiling down at him. “May I have this dance?”

Keith gulps nervously. So he did “win.” It was just a mechanism to stray the man away, but he assumes it worked. And here Lance was, pulling the _exact_ flirtatious look.

Though he’s never tried to dance, he’s positive he has two left feet and no rhythm. He’s nothing compared to Lance, who dances instead of walking and feels the music even when there isn’t any. 

“I-I can’t dance,” Keith confesses.

“Don’t worry about it,” he assures. Lance keeps his palm open and wiggles his brows to tempt Keith. “C’mon, I know you want to dance with me! You won the bet.” Rather than waiting, he takes Keith’s hand and hauls him out the bar. Keith trips due to the force of his pull, but regains his balance quick enough.

Only a couple of lights remain on outside, but it’s plenty to see what’s in front, and Keith has a perfect view of Lance. He pulls him closer so their shirts brush against each other. Music roars from the inside of the bar, jazzy and spirited. The drums are quick paced, the cymbals being hit every so often with the snares. The wind instruments gradually change their volume according to the melody the piano plays. The bass and guitar are subtle, managing to resonate through the walls of the bar. The hand holding his rises up to their sides. Lance puts Keith’s free hand on his forearm, then places his own on Keith’s waist. 

“This is a standard dancing position,” Lance mentions, gazing down at him. Keith tilts his head up to meet his blue eyes. “Standard position for any couple dance, I think, but this is swing, so some of it’s going to change. No flips today.”

Keith listens to the music a little more, taking in the pace. “Lance, this is ridiculously fast. Swing is  _ ridiculously _ fast.” He’s been to this bar enough to see the couples flip each other over and under. The music was already quick at the beginning, but Keith was hoping for some slowing down to have taken place by now.

“Just follow my lead. We’ll start slow anyways.” 

Lance steps back, then swings Keith out. Keith follows along clumsily, still holding his hand. Keith stands awkwardly to the side as Lance twists his feet under. Lance laughs at him, then pulls him back into their formal positions. Lance rocks the two of them in a circle, Keith tripping on his own feet. Keith looks down between their bodies to follow his footsteps. He’s a second late every time, so Lance starts counting aloud to help.

“Is this what you used the spare change for?” Keith asks, keeping his eyes on their feet. There’s just so much crossing and twisting that it’s messing with his mind. “For me to embarrass myself?”

“Wanted them to play loud enough for us to dance out here,” Lance says. “Didn’t want all those people in there to be watching. Plus, the lighting and emptiness was just calling us to grace it.” He grins at Keith. “How about we try that swing out again, but you swing me out instead?”

Keith kind of remembers Lance’s beginning steps, so he mimics them successfully and swings Lance out. Lance gracefully dances his way into the open space and swivels in his spot.

“Like this, see?” Lance raises his free arm and twists it, as if he’s surprising someone. Keith nods his head, though he truly believe he looks ridiculous. He continues the dance and pulls him in not so gracefully. Lance laughs at the mess up and takes over lead again.

The song slows down, now that the fast part has finished. Lance takes his time to show some tricks up his sleeve. Lance lightly pushes back on Keith’s waist, arching his arm over the other and loosening his grip on the other’s fingers. Keith spins under his arm to the beat of the music, earning a grin from Lance. The dancer takes back both of his hands and pushes their bodies apart, then spins Keith inward so he’s up against Lance’s chest.

Keith knows his face is red. He can feel the heat radiating off his cheeks and his mind is short circuiting. Why is that? They’re just dancing. He got over this ridiculous nervous feeling he gets around Lance. That’s done with! Is it just him? Clearly, the business man didn’t get this flustered. Maybe it is just him. Hell, they’ve slept under the same tent and he didn’t get like this! 

Lance rocks them to the sides, then spins him back out. “The song’s about to get a little faster, so get ready.”

Lance’s steps speed up and Keith manages to follow along. He looks down between them to find their feet are, one, still attached, and two, perfectly in sync. A smile stretches across Keith’s face as he glances at Lance, feeling the happiest he’s ever been in his life. The more they dance, the more he gets the hang of it. Lance leads him through the song, twirling him out and back into his arms at speeds that seem natural. The song quickens up as they get closer to to the end.

“I thought you were supposed to be teaching me how to be rich,” Keith chuckles, completely out of breath. Lance brings their arms over their head. Lance goes underneath his left arm and Keith does the same. Their enjoined hands rest against the back of each other’s neck.

Lance smiles and he pulls away horizontally from Keith. Their fingers glide across each other’s arms and he quickly takes hold of his hand again. 

“This wasn’t part of the lesson plan, but I make exceptions for people who notice when I’m uncomfortable and do something about it. Thanks, Keith.” Lance pulls him back into standard position, making the distance between smaller. 

“You’re welcome,” he mutters. Keith playfully bumps his foot into his. 

“Besides, I  _ am _ teaching you how to be rich, Purple Eyes.”

Keith scoffs. “Watching you dance in the street isn’t going to keep money in my pockets, Lance.”

“No, it’s not, but that’s not the only way to make you rich. I’m poor as shit, Keith,” Lance breathes out as the song comes to an end on a happy note. “I’ve got something not even King Alfor has.” He rests his forehead on Keith’s. Is that pink on Lance’s cheeks? “I have happiness. When I dance, I’m happy. When I play with Blue, I’m happy. When I listen to music I’m happy. When I’m with you, I’m happy.” Lance lifts his head back. Keith immediately misses the contact. “ _ That’s _ what makes me the richest man in the world. Don’t you agree?”

A few weeks ago, he wouldn’t have. He would have told Lance he was preposterous. Riches makes one happy. A house makes one happy. Constantly having  _ enough _ makes one happy. And while that still can, Keith has learned that’s not the path best taken.

Happiness is with Lance. Wealth is being with Lance. That something he can’t feel—can’t pinpoint in time and space—is with Lance. The endless blue eyes, the smooth tan skin, the rags he models, the dances he performs—that’s what will make Keith the richest man in the world. He just has to learn more of it to claim them.

“I guess so.”

******

“You know what I realized a couple days ago?” Lance asks as he cleans an apple he stole, to Keith’s dismay. Him and Keith walk down the bustling streets of Altea once again on a gloomy day. Grey skies have been plaguing the city for some days now. “You’ve only  _ seen _ Blue.”

“Blue?” Keith repeats, reluctantly cleaning the apple Lance stole for him. He really has to start rejecting these apples for Lance to stop thieving around.

“The stray dog I look after!”

Keith remembers the dog food Lance stole for the stray. He barely remembers what the animal looks like. “Why would you name a dog Blue?”

Lance points at his eyes, crunching his teeth into the apple. “She’s got blue eyes.” He ruffles his own hair with his fingers and begins a story. “When I first got to Altea, I had nowhere to go. I spent one whole day begging for money, and this big pup followed me around. I used her to my advantage, telling passerbys I had to not only feed myself but my dog too. She even cried on cue, she’s amazing! I eventually got enough to buy some fabric. I sewed up the quilt that covers my home, I patched up this lousy shirt, and I made myself a blanket to sleep with. I had a few bucks left, so I bought a chicken and shared it with her. Since then, we’ve been pals!”

Keith took care of a stray cat when he was younger. He had named her Red because she had rummaged through the cherries Keith’s mom grew in their yard and stained her white paws. He took care of her until the day she never came back home. She’s dead now, of course—it’s been around fifteen years—but he always wondered where she might have gone. Maybe she had kittens or found herself in a different city. Altea had too many strays and not enough people to take care of them. On a normal day, the memories would have been a sad reminder. Now, as he thinks of it, the longing is gone. The sadness of the memory is gone.

Keith can’t help but feel a little grateful about it.

Lance whistles and calls out for the dog. “Blue! Come on out girl!” he hollers into the streets. Pedestrians give weird glances and Keith does his best to rain on their parade with his daunting purple eyes. “I’ve got something for ya!”

In the distance, a white blur parts the sea of people and comes running towards the pair. As it gets closer, the shape of a dog starts to form. Not only does she have white fur, she has black spots. Keith seriously doesn’t remember Lance stealing food for a dalmatian. How does he forget a dalmatian? 

Blue pounces on Lance, making him stumble back and fall on his butt. She crazily licks his face, paws pressing against his chest. Keith laughs at the scene.

Blue isn’t very furry _.  _ Her hair is short and almost prickly. She’s tall—four legs on the ground and she goes past Keith’s knees. Her mostly black ears fold down and are a stark contrast against her white face. As for her body, her back is bare white, while the sides and legs are splotchy with black polka dots. She wags her white tail relentlessly from excitement.

Lance scratches behind her ears and speaks to her in a high pitch voice. “Next to me here is my friend Keith,” he introduces, pointing at him. “I want you to meet him.”

The dog doesn’t react. She’s too infatuated with Lance being in her presence. Lance rolls his eyes and digs out a piece of jerky from his pocket. Before Blue can get it, he hands it to Keith.

He blinks down at him. “What do you want me to do with this?” he questions, taking the food between his fingers.

Blue answers before Lance can. She moves off of him and obediently sits on her hind legs, letting her tongue stick out of her mouth.

“Lift the treat up a little,” Lance advises, getting himself off the ground. “She’ll jump and try to catch it.”

Keith does as told and Blue hops into the air, teeth almost grasping the jerky. She immediately sits back down on her hind legs and cries. “Okay, okay,” Keith coos, lowering his arm so she can reach it. “Just take the treat.”

Blue happily takes it in her mouth and walks off. Lance grabs the strap of Keith’s messenger bag and whisks him away with the dog. She takes them to the backlot of a restaurant, where trash piles up against the wall. What Blue can reach has been scoured through already. Next to the trash is a dusty old blanket that she’s made home. She lies down on the blanket taking the jerky with her, and begins to eat.

Keith takes the first bite of his apple and seats himself next to Lance against the building.

“I love that dog,” he expresses. “Don’t you?”

“I don’t know that dog,” Keith responds.

Lance cranes his neck to give him a deadpan expression. “Did she bite you?”

Keith looks back at him. “No.”

“Attack you?”

“No.”

Lance quirks an eyebrow up. “Hurt you?”

“No.”

“Then you have every reason to love Blue,” Lance huffs, turning away and dramatically taking a bite of his apple. “All dogs are good dogs! You just can’t pose a threat, or else they’ll protect themselves, even if it means harming you. Blue is the best dog I’ve ever met. She’s my best friend! I’m very happy to have met her when I came to Altea.”

Now that she’s done eating, Blue walks up to Lance and Keith. She rubs her head against Lance’s leg. He reacts to it and straightens out his bent limbs. Blue climbs up onto his lap, then stares up at Keith, expecting him to do something. Keith stares back in return, like she’ll open her mouth and tell him what to do.

“She wants you to straighten your legs,” he whispers, pointing at his knees.

Keith pushes away dust with the heel of his feet as his legs straighten. Blue steps her front legs on his thigh and uses both their thighs as a resting place. She lies down and rolls onto her side, signaling she wants a belly rub. Lance scratches her tummy as Keith resorts to scratching behind her ear. The feeling seems euphoric to her.

“See?” Lance says. “She’s a good girl and deserves your love! Isn’t that right, Blue? You know  _ I  _ love you, huh?”

Blue heaves in excitement at the way Lance talks to her. Keith continues to scratch, nodding only in agreement. The three of them stay like this till the sky turns black and the stars shine into the night. Lance gives Blue one last kiss between her ears and sends her off to bed. The two walk back into the now dead streets of Altea. A cold breeze haunts them as they travel.

“I try to see her everyday,” Lance discloses, rubbing his hands against his forearms to create some heat. “I’ve managed to do so except for the days you stay in my tent with me.”

“Oh.” Keith feels bad. He didn’t mean to stop Lance from seeing his friend. “I’m sorry about that. If you told me, I would have gone back to my place.”

“I don’t mind, Purple Eyes. We’re both strays. She’s more helpless than I am, so I help her as much as I can. In the end, we can’t afford to properly take care of each other. We’re just there to comfort and love one another.” Lance sniffles, catching Keith’s attention. Tears build up in his blue eyes. “I owe her a lot for that.”

Keith places a hand on his forearm and pulls him into a hug. Keith doesn’t like seeing him like this—morose. Lance shouldn’t feel that way. He’s the happiest guy he knows. “You’re going to get sick if you sleep out in this weather. How about you stay at my place?” he suggests. 

“You have work tomorrow, Keith. I don’t want to bother you,” Lance reasons.

“I don’t have to go. I don’t mind, really.”

Lance nods against his shoulders and aimlessly follows Keith home.

Once home, he doesn’t turn a light on. The moon’s gleam that infiltrates through his small circular window is enough to shine the way. Keith guides a sleepy Lance onto his bed and tucks him in with the single blanket he owns.

“Where will you sleep?” Lance groggily whispers.

“The floor will do,” he replies.

“Sleep with me.” Lance scoots back on the bed so his back hits the wall and there’s space for Keith to lay. “This blanket won’t warm me up the whole night.”

At first he hesitates. He isn’t sure the bed will be able to withstand both their weight, but Lance truly  _ won’t _ stay warm the whole night. The boy is skinny and the blanket isn’t thick enough. He’ll need the body heat of someone else to stay warm. Keith will need it too, he decides. Keith kicks off his shoes and huddles himself under the blanket. Lance scooches closer to him and releases a huff of warm air out his nose.

“Good night,” Lance yawns.

Keith smiles one last time for the day. “Good night, Lance.”

It rains for the next three days. They only went outside to buy themselves a coat, fabric, and food to last them. Lance classically stole them some apples. The rest of their time is spent indoors, playing games, eating, and talking.

At this moment, the rain is dying down. Lance had sewn a small quilt for them to sleep with and was amusing himself with the leftover fabric. Keith was watching him sew, but became bored quickly. Seeing Lance mess around with the fabric made him remember stowing something away in his closet some time ago. He heads to take it out.

Fingers find the neck of a guitar. He pulls it out of hiding and strums. The scratched wooden guitar is all out of tune, so he gets to fixing it as he walks back to Lance. The remains of popped strings scratch at his fingers as he turns the pegs.

The dancer eyes the instrument with keen interest. He puts his needle and fabric down on his lap and watches Keith do his magic.

“I didn’t know you played guitar,” Lance says. “I’ve known you for months, and I didn’t know you played  _ guitar! _ ”

“I  _ barely _ play guitar,” Keith corrects, twisting a peg. “I don’t know any songs, I just make a melody on the spot.”

Lance’s jaw drops. “That’s amazing! Can you play for me?”

Keith nods and finishes up. He randomly strings chords together and plucks away. The tune he makes isn’t sad or happy—it’s calming, fit for grey skies and light rain. He leans back against the edge of the bed and closes his eyes. Keith knows the rain is going to stop, but he wishes Lance and him could spend a couple more days like this. No dust filling their shoes, no pedestrians staring strangely at Lance for dancing. Only sitting on the cold floor of his tiny room, composing a song out of thin air and the boy he spends all his time with feeling at peace. Before he knows it, Lance is up and dancing across his floor. His moves are light and swift, as if the wind is carrying him. The two of them play and dance until their limbs are sore and the bed calls them back.

The following day, the sun finds it way through the grey clouds and shimmers across Lance’s sleeping face. Keith watches a rainbow reflect on his cheekbone. His breathing is the only noise in the room. Unfortunately, they can’t stay cooped up like this forever. Keith pokes Lance awake. When blue eyes meet his purple ones, he points out the window and says, “The rain will come back soon. Let’s buy some things outside while we can.”

Lance nods and gets himself ready. Keith slips on his shoes and puts on his black coat. Lance puts on his matching one, and together, they return to Altea’s marketplace.

They barely spend fifteen minutes outside before it pours again. Different to what they believe, many people hustle outside, getting last minute groceries. Several kids play in the rain without fear of getting sick. Keith’s messenger bag weighs heavy on his shoulders due to all the stuff they bought packed inside.

“We should go check on Blue,” Lance suggests, pulling on Keith’s coat. He looks away from Keith, seeming a little embarrassed.“I want to make sure she found shelter.”

Though he’d rather go back to his small, cold room, Keith caves in with a reassuring smile and follows Lance to her home. They aren’t very far from it anyways, so it only takes a few minutes to get there. Once they’re behind the restaurant, all they see is the same trash piled up and an empty blanket. Lance worries his lip and turns back with Keith right behind him.

“She must be nearby,” Lance says as he steps on puddles. He freezes and looks behind him at Keith. His eyebrows crease together in thought. His hair sticks to his forehead like glue and his brown shoes are soaked, but it’s the least of his problems. “I’ll continue further down the road, you check behind buildings.”

Keith goes looking behind every building and checks each nook and cranny. He whistles and calls out to her. There’s no response. A dalmatian is easy to spot, especially one her size. He gets tired after checking behind the seventeenth building, heavily breathing with his hands on his head. He doesn’t want to deliver the news that he can’t find Blue, but it’s what he must do so they can get back home. Being out for this long isn’t good for either of their health.

Keith returns to the streets. Up ahead stands a lonely figure looking down at the ground. He figures it’s Lance from the black coat and trousers. He begins his jog up.

“Lance!” he calls as he gets closer. The rain is getting heavier and starts to weigh him down. “Lance, I couldn’t find Blue.” He slows down and wipes the rain from his face, finally getting to him. “I’m sorry I couldn’t—”

Lance stands completely still, arms to the side. His shoulders shake and his legs look like they’ll give out any moment. His back is to Keith, and he begins to worry. He starts making his way closer to him.

“Lance, is everything o—”

In front of them is Blue soaked in water, completely motionless and, to his disappointment, not breathing. Keith rips his view away from the animal, shocked and petrified. They’re away for a couple of days and this, of all things, happens. Keith’s next instinct is to check on Lance.

Lance’s legs fail to hold him up and he sinks. Keith’s arm goes under Lance’s and pulls him up. Keith doesn’t allow himself to take a look at his face. He only pulls him into his chest and lets the sobs tear out of him. If they weren’t muffled against his fabric, he would have gotten the attention of all of Altea. Lance wraps his arms around Keith’s neck to keep him afloat. In return, Keith draws small circles on the low of his back for comfort and hugs him tightly. Keith has never experienced the loss of someone so vital to his life. His parents and the few friends he made growing up are still alive. Is this a good way to comfort him? Should he say something? He doesn’t know how to describe this whole situation. 

After some minutes, Lance lifts his head to catch a proper breath, then rests his chin on Keith’s shoulder. “We need to bury her,” he shudders out. He’s shaking to the core and Keith can’t tell which are tears or rain. Keith combs back his drenched hair with his fingers. “I know where.”

Keith tells him he’ll take care of it. Lance walks some distance away and waits. Taking off his brand new coat, Keith wraps Blue up and carries her in his arms. Lance walks in front of him, leading the way to her new resting place. He doesn’t look back once.

They come up to Altea’s public park, also known as the only place shrubbery grows. It’s completely empty. The creeks of the swings being blown by the wind echo throughout the area. Lance walks past the bushes that frame the park and discovers soil fit for a proper burial. He begins to dig with his feet, creating a hole big enough for Blue. While Keith wants to help him, he knows Lance wouldn’t want him to. Blue was  _ his _ friend. They couldn’t support each other, like he said, but they were there for one another. Doing this would be the last thing he’d do for her.

Lance backs away once he’s dug a deep enough hole. He glances at Keith and nods, wiping at his eyes. Keith approaches the hole, seeing the water begin to build up inside. He gets down on his knees and carefully places her inside. He stays on his knees for some moments, thinking about what Lance said about her. Thinking about how this will affect Lance in the long run. Thinking about his own feelings towards Blue. Besides Keith, Blue was all Lance had. Blue was the only thing that gave him the time of day, that gave him the love he truly deserves. That’s gone now. How will he live without it?

Blue flower petals drop onto her body from above. Keith looks across the hole and sees Lance sniffling as he tears the petals from the flower’s center. He’s doing his best not to cry, to stay strong like he’s always presented himself, but Keith knows better than that. Lance has a lot of pride and likes to keep a happy persona. When something switches that, he does his best to not make it obvious. In this situation, that’s not powerful enough. Keith walks over to him and pulls him close.

“Thank you, Blue,” Lance whispers, letting the last petal fall. Keith rubs his shoulders and watches the petal land on his coat.

Together, Lance and Keith bury her body.

Lance cries all the way back home. He uses Keith’s soaked shoulder to cry on. Keith hates seeing him like this. It tops the list for worst experiences. It’s not the whole pampering that bothers him, it is simply seeing Lance so sad. This kind of reaction is the reason why he sold sadness. It bothers the rhythm of his heart. He can’t understand it. If he could feel sadness, this would make more sense. He’d know how to do more than just  _ this,  _ even if he’s never experienced death so closely. Keith’s angry he can’t do more than just be someone to hold. For someone to hurt Blue, consequently hurting Lance…he’d do a lot of damage to that someone. Anger fills him in place of sadness.

Once inside his room, Lance chucks off his shoes and jacket and climbs into bed. He curls up under the two blankets and shakes as he sobs. Keith follows his footsteps and climbs into bed with him. Leaving him alone in this state seems wrong. Hesitantly, he puts his arm over Lance’s body. Lance rolls over to face him and cries into his chest. Keith hugs him tightly, confused, but deciding to not let go.

This is sadness at its core. It’s a war that leaves more than just a scar. It leaves a memory you don’t want to ever remember. It makes a long-standing happy thing a sad thing. Blue brought Lance all kinds of happiness, but upon seeing her body, it may have spoiled that. Any death is sad. Keith losing Red is a sad thought, therefore Blue’s death should be a stab in his chest.

Yet Keith feels nothing.

******


	3. The Richest Man in the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith regrets his choices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> have fun

 

The two of them had spent some more days inside Keith’s room. The rain is coming down to a drizzle but with Blue’s death, the streets isn’t the carefree place it used to be. They’ll return to it when the rain fades.

Lance is curled into Keith’s side on the small, squeaky bed. Lance managed to roll onto his arm sometime during the night. He stares up at the cracked white ceiling. They’re wide awake, just too tired to move. Keith’s focus has been to comfort Lance on these days: cook him food, play the guitar, cuddle him to sleep—he seems to appreciate it. Keith knows he wakes up in the middle of the night and cries. If he reacts to it, Lance will feel bad. He listens to the small sniffles that escape him instead. He isn’t pleased with being able to do nothing about it.

“Keith?” Lance whispers into the silence, tilting his head up at him. Keith looks down at his lifeless ocean eyes. “Did you love her?”

Keith blinks down at him unsure. “I didn’t know Blue,” he answers.

Lance looks away from him and places his head on his chest. “But wouldn’t her death have made you sad?” He pauses. “Why didn’t you cry?”

Keith reverts back to looking at the ceiling. It’s been nearly four months since he sold his emotions away and he isn’t sure how long it’ll be till they return. He hasn’t felt love or sadness at all, which means it  _ worked, _ but the words of that woman repeat in his head like a mantra.

_ “...If you should feel sadness or love while your emotions are gone, they will hurt when they return.” _

“I have something to tell you, Lance,” Keith says. He has to tell him, tell him he feels nothing. He’s void of feeling and he doesn’t exactly regret his choices. All they’ve done is make him confused. “Some months ago, before we met, I was in desperate need of money. I had gambled away my earnings and needed to pay someone back before their threats became a reality. An older man had told me he knew someone who would buy my emotions. Emotions are easy to buy, but finding someone who can extract your own for money is difficult. I went to a buyer, sold my emotions, and got enough money for it.”

Lance  twists and rest his chin on Keith’s chest. He raises a single eyebrow. “What did you sell….?”

“I sold sadness and love.”

Lance sits up to give him an incredulous look. His brown hair is disheveled and the borrowed white shirt wrinkled. He has dark, dark bags under his eyes that only stand out now that he’s this close to him. “What?”

Keith sits up on his elbows to look at him properly. “I can’t feel sadness or love. That’s why I didn’t cry when we found Blue and buried her. I’m sure it’s a sad thing to go through, but I didn’t feel it. I can’t feel sadness or love because they won’t return to me for some time. I don’t know when they’ll come back. I can’t do anything about it.”

Lance scrunches his face together. It looks like he’s thinking about it. He’s forming an opinion and shaking his head. He’s  _ angry. _ “Why would you  _ ever _ do that?” he scolds. Keith is taken back. “Why would you  _ ever  _ sell your emotions?”

“I needed money, Lance,” Keith reasons.

“Sell something else!” he yells in his face. “Sell this bed, sell your clothes, this room,  _ anything _ but your emotions!”

“Why?” Keith isn’t going down without a fight. He made this decision because he thought it was the easiest solution and he was hoping Lance could  _ possibly _ sympathize with him. “I need this bed, these clothes, this room, so why should I sell them when I don’t need sadness and love?”

Lance rolls his eyes. “Your emotions are  _ part  _ of you! You don’t just get rid of them. They make you human!” He runs his fingers through his hair and shakes his head. He’s upset, meaning Keith only agitated him. He hates when Lance is anything but in a good mood, because it just doesn’t suit him. “What you feel, your happiness, your sadness, your love…. _ that’s _ what makes you rich, dammit!”

Keith leans closer to him tauntingly. “Is that what you’ve been trying to teach me?” he asks. “To be rich through my emotions?”

“Yes! God, Keith, what did you think!” Lance sighs heavily. In the gloomy room, Keith can see the small ripples of tears down his cheeks. “I thought you got the message when we were dancing! Everything you feel in life, everything that’s  _ real— _ that’s what makes you rich!”

“You just lost someone you  _ love _ , Lance! How can you be rich when you’re sad?” It didn’t make sense to him. Keith hated his sadness, his depression through the years, it made him feel like shit. There was no way he could be rich like that.

“Wow, Keith. Have you  _ ever _ been sad?”

“Of course I have.” He spits back. He’s been lonely most of his life and too many things haven’t worked out for him. He’s lost the people he was closest to, fell into a depressive state, and the only thing that remained after he climbed out of it was his gambling. Sadness ruined him, and if Lance thinks it hasn’t, then he’s wrong. “Why else would I have  _ sold _ it?”

Lance swallows hard. “I lost someone I love. I lost someone that made me happy. But Blue’s death isn’t going to make me sad for the rest of my life. I’m not going to remember her death, I’m going to remember her life. I’m going to remember the sheer joy she gave me, the blue eyes that lit up at a piece of jerky, the way she fell asleep through any kind of noise made. All of that disappearing makes me sad, the  _ absence _ of it upsets me more than anything, but going back to the times I had her—that’s what makes me happy.”

_ “Don’t you think you need sadness to feel, say, happiness?” _

Keith remembers the quote from the woman that took his emotions. The saying was meant to tell him of balance. Sadness is needed for happiness and happiness is needed for sadness. Keith hadn’t understood it, but it was becoming clear. Being sad allows room for happiness. Balance is necessary, though it may take time. It is restored. The sadness of Blue’s death gave Lance room for the happiness of her memory, ultimately creating balance.

“I’ve bought emotions before,” Lance continues. Keith perks up at the words out his mouth. Lance, buying emotions? It was unreal. “I bought happiness at a time I didn’t have any. When you  _ buy  _ emotions, they only last for as long as your body thinks you need it. I had it for a week. At the end of it all, I realized how fucking fake it felt. It wasn’t real and I wasn’t happy. I had to find something that made me happy, so I learned about myself and came to terms with my flaws. I accepted who I am and felt better. Just for some more self exploration, I came to Altea. That was the journey I claimed too cheesy to share—my self discovery.” 

Lance hesitantly cups Keith’s face softly, touching their foreheads together. Keith does nothing to wipe his tears away. He’s a little nervous to even touch him. 

“Then I found you,” Lance says through a smile. “You and your stupid purple eyes, watching me do something I love with awe rather than annoyance, like everyone else on those streets. I saw you were conflicted; you were happy but it wasn’t going to last. Maybe it was you being happy with your money and sad over it not stabilizing you for the rest of your life, but I saw more than that. I wanted to fix that. I wanted to make you the richest person in the world and if teaching you, in  _ some _ way, how to get there by being happy,  _ feeling _ what you need to in every moment that calls for it, I would have succeeded. Because you brought me that happiness—that richness—and I want to return the favor.”

He breathes in heavily, more tears spilling out of his eyes than before. Keith’s expression softens as he shakingly wipes the stains with his thumb.

“I can’t do that, can I?” Lance asks, looking straight into his eyes. “I can’t succeed at that because there’s a part of you that’s empty and neither of us can do anything about it.”

He feels angry with himself now. Even though he never predicted he would meet Lance, he’s beginning to regret selling his emotions. He’s made Lance sad, and that was never his intention. It was never his intention to make anyone sad, but here he is, mad at himself for hurting him. For being the reason Lance is crying. And for only feeling sorry _ ,  _ for not feeling sad or love in this situation, in any situation.  _ It hurts. _

“I’m sorry,” Keith whispers softly. It seems like the only appropriate thing to say at the moment. Lance is right. There  _ is _ nothing they can do about this past mistake.

“It’s okay,” Lance assures, moving one hand from his cheek to play with the ends of Keith’s hair. “At least I’ve teached you to be rich so far, right? I wasn’t going to teach you sadness, because I thought you’d understand it already, then Blue happened and….a part of me wanted to teach you how to conquer sadness. I guess that won’t really work in this case.”

“How do you conquer your sadness, Lance?” Keith asks. “I promise I’ll store the instructions in my head.”

Lance lets out a breathy laugh, finally smiling again. Keith gives a toothy grin in return. “Usually I just let it dissipate. I let it do it’s own thing and I learned that wasn’t the best way to go around it, but now?” Lance pulls back to rub at his red eyes. The slight smile that plays on his face is good news to Keith. “Spending time with you helps me conquer it.”

The aura in the room changes. The statement makes Keith happy and he can’t help it. He wraps his arms around Lance, his head snuggling in the nook of Lance’s shoulder. Sadness can’t even survive long when he’s around him. A loud, happy laugh escapes the dancer as he hugs him back.

“When love and sadness come back to you,” Lance says, “I promise I’ll teach you. I’ll give you the  _ grandest _ lesson of love, and then maybe you’ll be richer than me too.”

“No, we’ll be rich together. I want it that way.” A lopsided smile from Keith presses into Lance’s skin. “I don’t think I’ve ever been happier than when I am with you.”

******

The skies are at last clear in Altea. The sun scorches, but it’s refreshing now that it’s setting. Keith misses the dust in the air and seeing Lance prance through the streets. He misses hearing the sneers from people and immediately shutting them up with his stare. He’s more than happy to see Lance’s smile lighten the mood.

Keith is so damn happy.

“I have somewhere to take  _ you _ this time,” Lance says, twirling up to Keith. Now that his clothes are cleaned, he looks less like a mess and more like a deity. The purplish-orange color of the sky frames him like a painting and he thinks this is the most beautiful he’s ever seen him. Lance grins and takes both his hands in his.

Keith fails to bite back a smile. “You? Take  _ me  _ somewhere?”

Lance walks backwards with a little hop in his feet. “It’s no bar, but it  _ is _ free!”

They walk together through the bustling street. Keith makes sure Lance doesn’t bump into anything, even though he’s constantly looking over his shoulder to find their destination. Pedestrians are too busy to pay them any attention, so it feels like they’re in their own world. Both their smiles refuse to leave their face. Lance turns into an alleyway, dragging Keith along. 

Lance leads him into a dark entryway of a building with stairs going up. “Lance, where are you taking me?” Keith asks nervously. His voice echoes in the space.

“Just follow my lead, Purple Eyes.”

Darkness turns to light as the space above comes into view. Their heads stick through and he notices they’re on the rooftop of the building. It’s flanked by two taller buildings that don’t do anything to shade the area. To the right, clothes are hung from wooden posts to create a makeshift cover where two hammocks are hung parallel to each other. The end to that side is cut off by three dark green clothes. Pillows are thrown all over the floor and shirts are hung from a line against the wall. 

To the left is what’s interesting. There’s no cover to block the gorgeous view of the city. Houses fill the space below. In the distance, to the left, the castle of King Alfor rises above all. The white sheen of it glimmers from the light of the sky. Behind the city is the vast golden desert and the sun setting halfway. Keith breathes it all in.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Lance asks, squeezing the one hand he still holds.

“How do you know this place?” Keith whispers, turning to look at him. The light breeze blows Lance’s hair to the side and, dammit, how does he just do  _ nothing  _ and look flawless?

“I made some friends. They both live up here. I asked if I could borrow it for a few hours because the view was too great to not show you.”

Keith smiles at him. Lance pulls him over to the edge that faces the view and sits on the ledge, feet hanging. Keith takes a seat next to him. They sit in silence. They had done it for several days straight, but the aura was different. It was sullen. Now, it’s tranquil, like they’re doing something they deserve.

“Keith, I like being with you,” Lance says, a nervous shake in his voice. Seated, they’re the same height, so when he looks him in the eyes, it’s as direct as can be.

“I like being with you too,” Keith confesses, though it doesn’t seem like it. Lance should know this already.

“No, Keith,” he laughs, putting his head on Keith’s shoulder. “I  _ really _ like being with you. More than anyone I know. I like lying in bed with you, I like listening to you strum away at your guitar, I like seeing your smile, I like holding your hands, I just like being with you _. _ I don’t want to stop being with you. Sitting here with you, looking at this view, with not a care in the world….this make me rich.” He reaches over to Keith’s messenger bag and opens the flap, digging his hand in for something Keith doesn’t know about. He takes out two apples and hands one to him.

Keith rolls his eyes and accepts it. “I’ve told you time after time to stop stealing, Lance. Altea’s different from Earth when it comes to thievery. They won’t just throw you in a cell for a couple days here.”

Lance blows a raspberry. “Fine, then you buy me an apple tomorrow.”

“And if I don’t?” Keith plays around.  _ Of course _ he will. He buys Lance apples on days he _ hasn’t  _ stole one.

“Then I’ll just have to steal some apples for us again.”

Keith agrees and starts cleaning the apple with his shirt. Hearing him say he likes being with Keith is music to his ears. He hasn’t completely grasped this concept of being rich off your emotions, but he’s doing his best to understand it. Lance had said that everything you feel in one moment is you living life to the fullest, it’s what makes you rich. It’s being aware of your emotions, taking them in and expressing them.

The sun is completely past the sand dunes now, leaving a sky whose color is diminishing. Lance gets up and rummages around the room. Keith already misses him. 

“What are you looking for?” he asks, twisting to watch him.

“Hunk and Pidge said they had music around here,” he grunts, moving a box to reach something behind it.

“Uh, who?” The names were unfamiliar.

“The people who live here. They have an audio player somewhere…” He pulls out a record player that already has a vinyl in it. Keith never learned how to work one of those, so he lets Lance set it up. Keith is already standing, excited for Lance to hold his hand and place the other on his waist so they can dance. They’re going to dance, right?

Piano music plays from the vinyl. It sounds celestial and fantasmic, starting softly, nothing like the jazz they danced to some time ago. It slows down as Lance strides up to an impatient Keith, who is now scared of  _ slow _ dancing. To be honest, he was hoping for the same, fast paced music to fill the room because he  _ knows _ how to do that. This seems right though, considering the setting sun and free space. Lance’s fingers intertwine with Keith’s perfectly. That stupid blush that’s usually only on Keith is on Lance now. Keith fails to bite back a smile, making Lance laugh.

“Are you nervous?” Lance asks, placing his hand on his hip.

Keith automatically puts his hand on Lance’s shoulder. “A little,” he admits. “We’ve never slow danced.”

“It’s not too hard,” Lance says, leading Keith in the first move. They sway as the dancer guides the two of them in a circle. “It’s just this over and over again. Maybe I’ll spin you when the music is right.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

They’re silent for the most part, but it’s a good silent. One where the only thing shared between them are soft smiles and little giggles here and there. Keith rests his head on Lance’s shoulder just to take a break from his face. That missing feeling returns to his brain, searching for any sign of it. It always decides to hide itself when he looks at Lance.

Lance barely speeds them up when the instrumentals gets louder and faster. He spins him out and back in as the song gradually slows towards the end.

“How do you feel Keith?” Lance asks him as the music softens.

Keith looks back up at him. The golden set of the sun shades his skin in wondrous ways. His ocean eyes glisten back. How he feels? He feels content, like he could freeze time, stay like this forever, and not mind at all. There’s still something lingering that he can’t put his finger on.

“Happiness,” Keith responds. A grin grows on both their faces. He’s a little embarrassed, but there’s nothing stopping him now. “You make me so happy, Lance. How do you do that? You turned my world upside down and I don’t know how to pay you back.”

Lance’s eyes widened at the sudden remark. He pauses their dancing and stares at Keith. It’s like he’s reading a book printed on Keith’s skin and it racks his brain a little bit. Then, Lance moves in and closes the space between them. The blue eyes disappear behind his lids. Keith’s purple ones expand in surprise.

Lance is kissing him. Well, not  _ kissing _ him, more like putting his lips on Keith’s. What is he  _ doing? _ What is he trying to do? It happens all so quickly that he doesn't have enough time to think about it. He doesn’t know what to do! Keith stands still in utter confusion.

Lance pulls back. His face is laced with worriedness and, oh, no, Keith has made him feel bad  _ again _ and he doesn’t  _ like _ doing that.

“I-I,” Lance stutters, searching Keith’s face for a positive response. “I love you.” He gives a nervous smile that disappears like a static shock. “That’s my, uh, grandest lesson on love. The beginning of it … at least.”

Keith freezes. No, no, he can’t love him. No, that’s unfair. Lance can’t love him when Keith can’t love him back. Hell, maybe  _ that’s _ what has been missing. That emptiness that needs to be filled every time he looks at Lance. It’s love, isn’t it? It can’t be sadness. It has to be love, but he  _ doesn’t  _ feel it.

The song ends on a soft, high note. Now the silence is unbearable. Who is supposed to say something? Should Lance confess some more? Should Keith remind him he can’t  _ feel _ that? Lance is looking at him like he’s done something wrong. Keith is angry with himself. Lance isn’t supposed to feel like that. Keith didn’t mind being kissed, he’s just confused about it now.

“Please say something,” Lance begs, worrying his lower lip. Keith’s heart breaks in half. “Please.” His voice cracks.

He doesn’t  _ know _ what to say. There’s nothing his mind can come up with. He can’t comprehend his own emotions. He can’t tell Lance he loves him, because what if he doesn’t? Dammit, why did he sell his  _ fucking _ emotions? He should have a response, but here he is, clueless and, in reality, scared. No one’s ever loved him. Not like Lance has, through dancing and music and death and  _ happiness _ .

Keith’s hands drop to his side as Lance backs as far away as possible, going towards the audio player. He takes off the vinyl and throws it to the side, then storms down the stairs. Keith is left alone on the roof, the last of the sun escaping the city of Altea.

******

Keith waits by the kiln, watching his iron burn. His friend Shiro hammers away at his new piece of work. He wipes the sweat away from his forehead.

“You didn’t have to come into work today,” Shiro says, pausing from his work to look over Keith. His fluff of white hair falls into his eyes. This skin is smeared with ash and his beige apron stands out against his black attire. “You seem a little different.”

Because he  _ is. _ The man he’s been spending his days with kissed him yesterday and confessed he  _ loved  _ him. Not everyone does that! Here was this dancer who entranced him time after time, who was too beautiful for Keith’s own pair of eyes, who radiated the purest emotions and, arguably, made Keith a much happier person, just by being himself. Those three words played in his head like the piano song they danced to. He still doesn’t know how to feel, but he wants to see Lance. He wants to see him so bad, because he finally has something to say. Something to ask _. _

If he could wait, wait just a little bit, for his emotions to come back and possibly confess too. If he can be patient enough for him, if his feelings can withstand it.

“I’ve seen you around with The Dancer,” Shiro points out, throwing his work to the side.

He pauses. “You have?” Keith’s back straightens up and he scooches in his seat to look at his friend.

“Yeah, everyone in Altea has!” he laughs. He hammers his work one more time. “You two are always together. Everyone gets a little annoyed with it.”

“Do  _ you _ get annoyed?” Keith interrogates. Shiro’s signed up for a fury now. “What is it that’s annoying? Is it his dancing? Because, hell, everyone gives him the  _ nastiest _ looks and it just makes me so  _ angry _ —”

“I’m not annoyed!” Shiro defends, putting his hands up. He puts his hammer to the side and leans on his work table. “I think people are just a little jealous.” Shiro purses his lips. “His dancing  _ does _ disrupt the crowd though.”

Keith sighs and takes out the iron work in the kiln. He douses it in the water to the side. He smiles a little at the idea of the city knowing Lance so well. He deserves the recognition. “It does sometimes.”

“Does he make you happy?"

Keith laughs. “God, that’s all he  _ does. _ ” He ruffles his fingers through his hair. “He changed me, Shiro.”

Shiro tilts his head and asks the dreaded question, “Do you love him?”

Keith takes the sizzling iron out of the water and throws it on a table. He keeps Shiro out of his line of sight. “I don’t know.”

******

Keith dodges a cart of cabbages as he heads towards the place he first met Lance. He’s cleared up his head and thought of the right words to say countless times. He’s nervous about them, yes, but he thinks they convey his feelings. And he wants to ask the most important question—if he’s willing to wait.

The apples in his bag bulge out. They’re bought, like he promised. His heart thumps loudly and he just wants to see those feet glide across the dirt. He wants to gaze into the endless ocean that is his eyes and hold his soft hands. Dance with him again—fast, slow, hell, he’d even tango if he asked. He just wants to do all of this before it possibly goes downhill. If Lance can’t wait and everything between them ends.

He hopes that’s not the case.

Keith returns to their usual rendezvous place to find it empty. Lance isn’t up against the wall or dancing in the streets in front. Keith looks around and asks some vendors if they’ve seen The Dancer, and they all shake their head. They tell him he’s been waiting against the wall for some days, and it’s odd that he isn’t there now. Keith thanks them and goes to the next place Lance might be.

He looks for the alleyway he knows too well where the makeshift tent Lance lives comfortably in sits. He turns into it, but finds the space to be empty. The rags and blankets are left tangled inside, which Lance tends to leave it after he wakes. Maybe it’s been like this for days.

“He didn’t sleep there last night,” a voice from the end of the alleyway says. Keith gazes down the alley to find a hooded figure sitting against the wall. “Found him sleeping by that wall he usually waits for you at.”

Keith’s eye widen. He was waiting for him and Keith never came. Lance himself didn’t think anything changed. In fact, he probably expected Keith to come and justify his actions. Unfortunately, he was too scared and now he’s nowhere to be found. What could possibly go wrong in just four days?

A small sense of worriedness vibrates through his bones. Keith knows Lance is well known in the city, so for the people around to not know what his whereabouts are is weird. “When he was here, he kept on talking about how he made a mistake. That it was ‘too soon’ and he failed.” The figure takes off the hood to reveal a pale woman with messy short, brown hair. Her green eyes glimmer even at this distance. “Did you make Lance feel like that?”

“I didn’t mean to,” Keith answers. He just had to be the biggest fuck up, didn’t he? He never wanted Lance to feel this way. “He didn’t do any of what he said.”

She shakes her head and pulls her cloak closer together. “He’s a mess. I hope you find him.” She puts her hood back on.   


Keith turns away from her, nervously biting the inside of his cheek. Other places, other places, what other places? He thinks back to every location they’ve been to. He remembers the apples inside his bag and makes his way to Blue’s home.

When he gets there, it’s  _ too _ empty. The trash is piled up neatly against the wall and Blue’s blanket is missing. Her happy presence is gone but Keith still feels nothing. No sadness has returned.

A worker exits from the back of the restaurant with a bag of trash. He has a big figure and wears an apron over his yellow shirt, which matches with his headband. He has dark brown skin and whistles a happy tune. His brown eyes gaze at Keith questioningly. “Can I help you?” he asks, throwing the bag into the mountain of trash.

“Uh, have you seen The Dancer around here?” Keith asks, hoping for a good answer. Calling him “The Dancer” is a new concept.

“Oh, Lance?” he asks as he wipes his hands against his apron.

Keith lightens up. “Yeah, you know him?”

“Hell, he’s my best friend! He borrowed my place to impress some guy.”

Keith remembers the names Lance had said on the rooftop. “Hunk or Pidge?”

“Hunk,” he answers, laughing low in his belly. “I’m not that little minion. How do you know my name?”

“I’m ‘some guy,’” he admits uneasily. By the change of Hunk’s face, turning from happiness to disappointment, it’s not something he wanted to hear. Keith should have remembered Hunk called himself Lance’s  _ best friend _ before he labeled himself as “some guy.”

“Oh,” he sighs. “You’re  _ him. _ ” Hunk makes his way towards Keith. He’s taller than Keith, and even more so than Lance, so his friendly demeanor disappears within seconds. “You fucked up, Keith. He’s been waiting for you and you never showed up.”

Keith backs up to make some space between them. “What did he tell you, exactly?” How is it that the girl in the alley and this guy know he fucked up? Did Lance come running to  _ them _ after the fiasco in their home?

“He confessed he loves you,” Hunk sneers, “and you did nothing. You didn’t reject him or accept him. And then you never showed up to give an answer. So, you’re a little late, aren’t you?”

Keith tightens his grasp on the strap of his messenger bag. He’s right. Keith is late and he should have shown up earlier. He should have brought these stupid Lance days ago, not now. “I know I messed up.”

“Then why are you looking for him?”

“I want to fix it.” His hand shakes against his bag. Is this what it’s like, to face someone who cares about another so much? He hopes he made the people who glared at Lance dancing  _ this  _ nervous. “Aren’t I allowed to do that?”

Hunk observes his face. He looks concentrated, as if he’s trying to dismantle Keith’s brain and find his motives, desires, and maybe that love Lance could have wanted in return.

“I don’t care about your little situation, whatever it may be,” Hunk angrily whispers in his face, “but you  _ better _ fix it.”

Keith nods quickly and backs out of the area. That was the scariest confrontation he’s ever gone through. Keith would be just as threatening to someone who hurt Keith. He’s been hard on himself since the moment Lance walked down those stairs on the roof.

While it’s a long shot, he thinks Lance might be at Blue’s resting place. Maybe that would give him comfort, it’d remind him of happy days and not Keith. He runs to the public park, praying he gets to see him. His heart is heavy with worry and he’s  _ done _ with it. He wants this resolved.

People look past him as he pushes them out of his way. Rather than angry, they seem surprised that he’s alone and speeding through the streets. In the distance is that shrubbery and the swings. Today, it’s packed with kids screaming and parents waiting impatiently. The adults notice him and give him weird looks too. Keith scans the area for Lance. If he were behind the bushes, you’d still be able to see his crouching figure. Lance is so tall, he’s hard to miss.

“I haven’t seen him here,” a mother says to the side of Keith. He whips his head towards her. She has black hair and dark skin. She’s scaringly muscular, but her face is kind. Next to her is a covered baby carrier with little duckies patterned on the blanket. She gives a slight smile to him. “The Dancer?”

“Y-Yeah,” Keith stumbles. “Everyone really  _ does _ know who he is.”

“Well, yes, but it’s also weird that you two aren’t together. You’re clearly looking for him.”

Keith blinks at her. It can’t be that obvious. Can it? They spend a lot of time together, yes, and they’ve been doing that for months, but did all of Altea catch on?

Next stop, next stop, where could Lance be? He thinks back again, but comes up short.

“Check the bar,” she says, turning her head back to the playground. “You danced there, didn’t you?”

Keith narrows his eyes. “How do you know that?” It’s technically private information, because not many were around, and the only one who could have noticed them was the man he gambled with.

“I was part of the band, silly,” she laughs. “Pianist! The name’s Shay.”

“Oh,” he says, looking away from her. That would make more sense. “Thank you, Shay.”

Keith starts making his way to the bar. If Lance isn’t there, there’s only one other place he can think of, and it’s not one he wants to go back to.

Keith stands in the dead end, watching people come in and out of the bar. The place looks busy and, even from outside, the radio plays over the chattering. No sign of Lance yet, so he makes his way through the door.

The natural light of the sun fills the room and bounces off the glasses. People holler and sing recklessly. The space is tight and Keith doesn’t want to even be in there, but Lance might be. He tiptoes to look over everyone to see if he can catch the brown hairs with slight curls at the end, the rags he shines in and the smile that is brighter than the sun, but nothing. There’s none of that.

He swallows, nervous about his whereabouts and the next location. He runs out, hoping that this is it. This is the  _ only _ place Keith can think of now. The piano, the dancing, the apples—Lance must be on the roof. 

Will it be considered trespassing? It’s so easy to get to the place, and there’s no key or anything, so maybe it’s  _ not _ considered trespassing. It could be a public space that Lance’s friends happen to live at.

He gazes up the stairs, closing his eyes to prepare himself to face Lance, then walks up. If he isn’t here, then there’s no other options. He’ll just walk the streets and hope Lance twirls up to him with a bright smile.

Nothing on the roof has changed, except that the sun is high in the sky and the hooded figure from the alley is sitting on one of the hammocks. Keith backpedals and freezes. He wasn’t expecting anyone to be here and, shit,  _ now _ it’s trespassing.

The hooded figure laughs and puts her hood down. Her golden brown hair sticks out to the sides and she pushes up her glasses. “No luck, huh?” she asks.

Keith blinks, realizing who she is. “Are you Pidge?”

“Yes, stupid.”

“What were you doing in the alley?”

“Waiting for Lance.” She turns her head towards him and smiles. “He’s my friend too. Well, Lance definitely thinks of you as more than a friend but—”

“Please stop,” Keith asks of her, hunching over in disappointment.

“—you messed up!” 

Like he hasn’t been told that already. Pidge gets up from the hammock and faces him. She’s much shorter than him, but she’s just as intimidating as Hunk.

“You better find him and  _ fix this, _ ” she demands.

Keith firmly nods. He runs back down the stairs and stares out into the open, brainstorming some more. His mind is blank. He didn’t move to another city, right? No, it’d take him much too long. Plus, people saw him recently. He wouldn’t move from Altea, not because of Keith. It’d be a rash decision, and Lance is very good at not doing that. So where could he be?

He makes his way into the streets and walks for some time. His hand shakes a little because he’s nervous. Lance is  _ easy _ to find. He sticks out like a rainbow through gray clouds. People are more aware of where he’s been than Keith, and he’s been with him since the beginning.

He has some hope that he’ll see him today, so he starts thinking about what he’s going to tell him. Yes, he’s been thinking about it for days, but chances are his words will be jumbled once out of his mouth. They won’t make sense, and they  _ have _ to make sense.

He’ll start off by saying he’s sorry. He didn’t mean to say nothing. He wanted to say something but nothing was coming to mind. And he just kissed him! He was still thinking it through! And then he said he loves him and, hell, that required even more thinking and now he’s rambling to himself and this is how it’s probably going to come out to Lance. It’s going to be a big fucking mess and Keith won’t be coherent but that’s what he needs to be! He needs to explain everything with the utmost truth and feeling and, ha, emotions. He has to be emotional! And then he has to tell Lance that there’s a 50/50 chance that he loves him too, but how can he know? He can’t, that’s right, he can’t and he can’t feel _sad_ over it either, just anger. Pure, flaming anger.

Anger tends to take over what should be sadness. He was angry that Blue died, because now Lance was missing him. He was angry that he couldn’t feel anything. He was angry at himself because he sold his emotions. Angry that he can’t tell Lance he loves him back because he doesn’t know. Angry that he couldn’t cry because he didn’t feel the sadness. Angry that he  _ truly _ thought all there was to being sad was an endless whirlwind of desperation, rather than a balance the miss had told him about before. Angry that he truly thought he wouldn’t love anything because he convinced himself he’s never loved anything anyways. However, when he was angry, Lance alleviated him. Just his presence calmed him down. The light steps that seemed to float, the soft humming he did when Keith strummed his old guitar, the warmth that radiated right out of him. Lance is soothing, and Keith needs that.

As he walks, others run by him. Once out of his thoughts, the screams and commotion become a reality to him. Up ahead is a big crowd forming, and above their heads, he can see a police baton rise, and then brutally come down. It’s met with a grunt. Keith never understood why people gathered around to see such things. It isn’t even entertaining. The whole view was horrible and never ended well. Weirdly enough, this crowd is much bigger than the usual few.

But the people that ran by him are now talking to those in the crowd. They look back at Keith in surprise, many bringing their hands to cover their face at his presence. More and more people are doing this, and now Keith is beginning to panic. Why are they looking at him? He doesn’t want to get near them. In fact, he wants to get as far away as possible, but now everyone is looking between the action in front of them and Keith behind them.

An apple rolls out to the side of the crowd. Keith watches it halt, like the rest of the city people do. Keith’s hands fall to his bag, where the two apple he bought for him and Lance jut out under the covering.

_ “Then I’ll just have to steal some apples for us again.” _

Keith pushes through the crowd at the speed of light, hitting some faces and nudging too many sides. Getting through is difficult, because  _ so _ many people came to watch and do absolutely  _ nothing. _ So many stupid people came to watch because they all knew the victim, they all knew his feet and his smile and his eyes. They all knew The Dancer.

When Keith makes it to the front, his knees almost fail him. Lance is sprawled on the floor, clutching his abdomen and hissing in pain. The soft curls of his hair stick to his forehead with blood, and the purple that surrounds his blue irises adds to the pain. Between his arm and side is one single, blood stained apple. The baton comes down on his side and Keith lets out a scream.

The police officer glares at him and says something to him. Keith pays it no attention. He can’t hear anything over his own thoughts and his brain that can’t form any words. His feet stumble towards Lance. In his peripheral vision, he sees the officer scramble his way with his baton high in the air, but the crowd quickly grabs and holds him down. Keith’s knees fall to his side and he props a bruised, bloody Lance into his lap.

The little oceans left in his eyes glance up at him. A blood-smeared, wonky smile appears on his face and Keith shakes his head. His heart is going to break through its cage because of how much he’s panicking. Lance’s breaths become short and out of rhythm and his limbs shake like an earthquake. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Keith was supposed to clear up the misunderstandings between them, not find Lance bleeding and beaten to a pulp. Keith was supposed to stare into those blue eyes and ask them for forgiveness, ask them for  _ patience. _

“You came back, Purple Eyes,” Lance’s hoarse voice manages. Keith worries his bottom lip.  Lance looks down at the apple between his arm and side. “I stole us some apples.” He winces as he loosens his grip on the fruit, letting it roll down his body. “Got beat up for it, but whatever.”

“Shut up,” Keith whispers angrily, moving the hair out of Lance’s face and not minding the blood that stains his fingertips. This isn’t his dancer. This isn’t the person he shared bread and apples with, danced with to no music, smiled at even during the worst of times. This broken and bruised human isn’t the person he’s spent his time with. He wants to ask if he is fine, but by the looks of it, he obviously isn’t. Lance doesn’t look good and it makes Keith’s heart run thousands of miles per minute. “I told you to stop stealing. I told you Altea didn’t treat criminals kindly. I already bought us some stupid apples, Lance.”

Lance begins to laugh, but hisses in pain immediately after. Keith’s eyes widen at that reaction and he holds him more carefully. Oh, God, he’s probably hurting him more. “That guy  _ really _ knows how to hurt a guy’s chest, wow,” he weakly sighs. Lance gazes up at him and blinks lazily. Keith internally begs him to keep his eyes open. “At least I get to see you one last time.”

“Shut  _ up!  _ Stop talking,” Keith’s voice cracks. The panic in his body is at an all-time record, showing itself through the goosebumps below his sleeves and the way his trembling fingers comb the ends of Lance’s hair. “You’re going to hurt yourself more.”

“I’m sorry,” Lance coughs out. Keith shakes his head quickly, already disagreeing with the statement. “I’m sorry about—”

“No, you don’t get to apologize. You did  _ nothing _ wrong, Lance, I’m the one who messed up. I’m sorry I’m so late. If I was here earlier this wouldn’t be the case.”

Lance lifts his arm and cups Keith’s face. He leans into it and nervously bites his lip. His skinny fingers play with the strands of black hair he can reach. “I know I was mad about the emotions thing,” he whispers to Keith, not looking directly at him, “but I’m happy you aren’t crying.”

“Shut  _ up _ Lance!” he demands quietly. He gently cradles him closer to his body, rocking back and forth. Keith  _ should _ be crying! He should be sobbing, but all he feels is panic and fear and  _ anger. _ He’s going to  _ die. _ “You don’t just say shit like that in these kinds of situations.”

“Maybe I told you I love you too soon,” Lance mumbles into Keith’s wrinkly brown shirt. His eyes look back at his galaxy purple ones. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to say it back—”

“Lance, stop talking,” Keith silently begs into the top of his head. He didn’t tell him  _ anything _ too soon. Maybe he felt that way at some point, but none of it matters now. Keith was selfish of thinking that. He was so worried about his own empty emotions that he didn’t bother to consider Lance’s.

“No, I have to tell you,” Lance rejects. Keith pulls him a bit back and notices the slowing rise of his chest.

“You aren’t breathing normally,” Keith panics. He starts looking around, but all he sees are a group of people holding back the officer and another group watching it all go down. “I have to get you help, Lance.”

“It’s too late for that, Keith.”

Keith’s eyes blow wide. “Are you stupid? Don’t  _ say _ that, it’s not too—” 

“I love you so much,” Lance weakly cuts him off, “and I think you love me too.”

Keith shakes his head and touches their foreheads together, shutting his eyes as tightly as possible. “Lance, please.” He doesn’t want to hear this anymore. He doesn’t want apologies or excuses, he just wants to clear the air. He just wants to get him some help. “How would you know?”

“I make you more than just happy, Keith,” he lightly laughs. 

Was that what’s been missing? Did Lance figure it out before Keith could? Of course he did. Lance has the endless amount of knowledge and experience and  _ of course _ he knows Keith is in love with him. It’s just Keith that doesn’t know it, despite Lance handing him the facts. 

“I wanted you to wait for me to come around,” he admits.

“And I would have,” Lance reassures, laughing once more. His eyes open again. The crowd yells at the officer. Keith still pays little attention to them. Lance is  _ dying _ . “I would have waited years for you, Keith.”

“Would you have forgiven me?” Keith asks, his voice scared. It’s the other part of what he wants to know. What if he doesn’t forgive him? He’ll have to  _ live _ with that. It’s all Keith’s fault. It’s  _ always _ Keith’s fault.

“I already have, stupid.” Lance even  _ smirks _ at him. How can he still do that at a time like this? “I’d do anything for a man that gambles to dance with me.”

Keith lets out a shaky laugh, giving him a pained smile. How can Lance still be himself when the life is draining out of him? People aren’t like this when they die, right? Shouldn’t he be as panicked as Keith is at the moment? Even Keith is having a hard time breathing. He can hear his heart beat frantically in his ears. This couldn’t be it. There was still so much to learn. What happened to that lesson on love? Hell, he’s ready for the rest of it. He just wants Lance to teach it to him. He  _ needs _ Lance to do it. And he needs him dancing by his side, or singing random lyrics to the strums of his guitar, or just another bite of a stolen apple. 

“You make me so happy,” Keith smiles. He holds onto the hand that’s against his cheek for support. He’s going to tell him that again and again and again. “I didn’t want you to feel anything but happiness.”

“You did more than that, love,” Lance grabs his attention. There’s a small pool of tears at the end of Lance’s eyes. They spill over and Keith rubs them hastefully. Lance’s breathing is getting jagged. Keith is scared. “I love you because you helped me find myself.”

Keith shakes his head. “Lance,” he whispers. He bites the inside of his cheek, refusing to believe what’s taking place right in front of him. “Lance, I  _ swear  _ if you keep saying stuff like that—”

“In fact, every time you tell me I make you happy,” Lance says, tears slowing down his bruise face, “it’s your way of telling me you love me.”

“ _ Lance. _ ”

“And-and when you play that guitar for me, I know it’s because you want me to dance, and dancing makes me happy.”

“Please stop.”

“I’m always so happy around you,” Lance sighs. “You let me be myself without shame.”

Keith wants to  _ scream. _ Why does he keep telling him this? It’s only making him feel worse. He’s only angrier because he can’t tell him that same. All he can say is Lance makes him happy, and Lance makes him happy, and  _ why does Lance only make him happy? _ He wants to tell him how Lance changed him too, but it’s all under that emotion he can’t feel. It’s all under the category of love, so he can’t project his emotions.

Lance chokes a little, but recovers quickly. A calm yet chaotic silence hovers between them. “Keith?”

“What?” he asks. The crowd is getting louder and louder, but it can’t trump the soft voice of Lance’s. This is the last of it, isn’t it? Keith can’t have this end. Lance  _ can’t _ end.

“I did what I said I would.”

Keith creases his brows in confusion. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he admits.

Lance smiles. The crowd roars behind them. “I made you the richest man in the world.”

Before he knows it, Keith is being pulled away by strong arms. He thrashes and thrashes, trying to get back to Lance. He’s thrown to the side and into the crowd. He lands on his stomach, dirt scattering all around him. The people hover over him, asking him too many questions for him to comprehend. Keith looks behind him to see only legs. Over the noise, he can hear the blows being delivered. He attempts to get back up, but the people make sure he doesn’t witness the violence. They drag him away, telling him all sorts of oddly comforting things, until that’s all he hears. The baton stops. 

******

Every single stupid fucking person makes sure Keith doesn’t go near the place Lance was killed for the rest of the day. Each time he tries to sneak by, someone blocks him and scurries him along the opposite way. He got so tired of trying that now he’s looking for a remedy.

He’s empty. Emptier than before. All that fills his body is this relentless anger. And yes, he has every reason to be the angriest person in the world right now, but there’s more he has to feel. Today’s event meant anger, sadness, and love. One of which he has too much of, and the other two of which he has none of. The imbalance is wrenching him out.

His hands have been fisted for hours. The indents his nail have left feel bruised and sore. Keith wants to find that officer and break his skull. He wants to march up the steps of Alfor’s castle and destroy every shining piece of it. He wants to find the book of laws and burn it to ashes. He knows that won’t solve his problem.

But something else just might _. _

Though the first time he didn’t know its location, he has now been able to pinpoint it on the map of Altea that he knows like the back of his hand. He catches that white tent behind a wooden table. The song about alcohol travels down the street.

Keith stomps his way over. The woman stops singing and glares up at him with wide eyes. Today, she wears a white dress with blue lining. Her white hair is braided into pigtails and rest over her shoulders. She looks him up and down and begins to bite at her nail.

“What happened here?” she asks, moving her open palm vertically to motion his attire. There’s dark blood stains on his shirt and light brown streaks of dirt all over his pants. The fabric of his messenger bag tore in the fall. “You look like a zombie.”

“I want Nunvill,” he says.

She goes wide-eyed, then sighs. “Look, how about I give you some actual alcohol instead, like my store  _ says. _ ”

He slams his hand down on her table and leans forward menacingly. “That isn’t going to help me.”

She takes a closer look at him. “What happened?” she asks again.

Keith purses his lips together in frustration. He doesn’t need to let her know. He’s only talked to her once. What’s between them is purely business, not some therapy session. “Just give me the Nunvill, Miss.”

She crosses her arms and shakes her head. “I don’t sell Nunvill anymore.”

Keith’s blood boils. The heat in his face rises and that stupid anger he hates is back. “What do you mean you don’t sell emotions anymore?”

She scoffs. “Because of people like you!” She puts her arm out at him. “You come here demanding it and you look like a fucking mess! Those emotions I sell aren’t going to make you feel any better.”

“Yes they will!” he yells at her, pulling at his own hair in frustration. They’ll heal him from this pain that’s been eating away at him since the morning. “Just let me buy them!” He starts to dig through his bag and finds a stack of bills. He offers them to her quickly. His eyebrows raise as he painfully begs. “ _ Please. _ ”

She curls his fingers over his own cash and shakes her head solemnly. “They don’t last long, Mullet. All I’ve done selling and buying these emotions is hurt people. I quit some time ago."

Keith drops the bills onto her table and sweeps them her way. “I know you still have some vials,” he whispers to her. “Give them to me.”

“They won’t help you, sir.”

“I need them!” he practically screams. Some people walking by pause at the noise. She glances behind him, then back at Keith. He’s breathing heavily now. “I need them, please, Miss, just give them to me. I’d rather feel anything than this emptiness.”

She blinks at him, something slowly coming to mind. “Are you trying to buy love and sadness from me?” she asks, remembering what he gave up for money.

Keith hunches lower, his fringe floating aimlessly in the air as he avoids her stare. She’s figured him out too. “I’ll give you whatever you want.”

“Why are you trying to buy them? You sold them to me.”

Silence.

“Have they...not come back yet?”

Keith clenches his hands and bites his lip. He wants them back so desperately now. He wants sadness and love more than he wanted that money he got the first time. He wants to feel, because Lance said he made him the richest man in the world, but how? How is he if he’s still missing sadness and love? 

“No,” he shamefully admits.

The woman tries to look at his face from under his hair. She frowns at him as he barely lifts his head to see her. “I never told you what happens when you try to buy them back, did I?”

Keith shakes his head. What is it, illegal? It can’t be that bad.

“You still won’t feel it,” she reveals. “Your body knows it doesn’t exist so nothing will happen. If you intake the emotion, it’ll have no effect. When you buy emotions for yourself, they only last for as long as your body thinks you need it, but since you completely rid yourself of that emotion, it just won’t detect it. You’re still void of feeling.”

Keith lets the words process through his head. He can’t buy back his emotions because there’s no going back. It’s defective. He has to wait for them to return, and it’s already been so long that he doesn’t know when the waves will crash into him. He wants to blame the white-haired woman, blame her for his problems, for not convincing him to not go through with it, to refuse service to him, for Lance’s death, if he reaches that far, but he knows that’s pointless. He’s the only one to blame.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I hope it doesn’t hurt too much when they come back.”

Keith storms off.

******

Keith abandons his home. He stays seated in that makeshift tent of Lance’s. It’s all that’s physically left of him. He didn’t leave anything else that made him  _ him. _ The most he can do is hold the blankets he knitted and look at apples.

The apples in his bag rot as the days pass. He barely moves from his place. Sometimes he buys food. Sometimes the city people give him food. Sometimes Pidge and Hunk come by. They haven’t exchanged words since the day Lance died. Solemn looks are shared between them. Hunk has held Pidge back time after time, her anger burning as bright as Keith’s own.

Once the days turn to weeks, Pidge’s anger fades. Keith’s only grows. His clothes reek and his hair is dirty, but nothing makes him want to leave the little tent. He’s reminded of the times he spent with Lance here. Times where he didn’t sleep in his wonky bed at home because cuddled up on the floor, next to Lance, was ten times better. Waking up to a little smile painted on Lance’s brown skin and a playful “good morning” said was the epitome of a good day.

And these weeks turn to months. He’s learned to leave every now and then, do what he must to live as a normal human, but at the end of the day, he returns to Lance’s home. All the money left in his rusty messenger bag is a couple bills and several coins sprawled at the bottom. Shiro comes by to tell him they fired Keith because he’s been absent for too long. Keith shrugs it off. He probably lost his little room too. There’s most likely another place begging for a blacksmith. Pidge and Hunk visit him rarely. Keith knows they blame him. He blames himself too.

All this time, nothing has returned. Anger remains with the lingering thoughts of Lance. He was told they’d return in a few months, but it’s now been more than a few. It’s been several. Does it take longer when you sell two emotions, rather than one? Why does it do that? He’d rather have the emotions return quicker and more painful than have it extended to this long.

He laughs at the fact that he thought, in the beginning, this wouldn’t be something he’d regret. Keith really thought he wouldn’t experience anything sad for such a long time, considering how often he is. Keith believed he wouldn’t find love, and while that one seemed less likely to occur than sadness, he was wrong.

What does love feel like? He pondered it too often. There’s simple love, there’s platonic love, but what is  _ romance _ ? What would love be like with Lance? Would it change their experiences? If Keith knew he was in love with Lance, would their dances feel like walking on clouds? Would their smiles be a subtle way of saying “I love you”? Would that kiss on the rooftop be returned? They’re difficult thoughts that don’t make him feel any better. He can’t picture it in his mind. He can’t  _ feel _ what it’d be like.

Lance’s blanket covers Keith’s legs and pools around his waist. He sits upright against the wall, looking aimlessly at the one right across. Altea sleeps as he’s awake. The only sound in the normally loud streets is the howl of the wind. It’s just another night for Keith.

Then it isn’t.

Suddenly, stones are pressed on his chest. Waves crash into him and air gushes past him like a hurricane. His eyes widen in surprise and pain. He clutches at his body, desperate to find something to hold. That familiar feeling of skin bubbling and blood rushing up is veins comes back. Air forces itself down his throat and now his hair  _ has _ to be on fire. His scalp is sizzling and his body shakes violently. He shuts his eyes as tightly as possible, praying this dissipates, wishing it didn’t hurt so much, and wondering if, at last, they’ve returned.

It fades as slowly as water evaporates. He’s left gasping for air and grasping at the blanket around his waist. His muscles are tired and his hair drips with sweat.

And then he’s crying over Blue.

Keith didn’t even know Blue. He met her once only, but she seemed like a great friend. She was full of innocence and happiness. A tear falls at the memory of her silently asking him to out stretch his legs so she can lay down. He remembers the way her sloppy mouth opened wide at the site of a piece of jerky and the way she curled into her blanket. Then there was her burial. The blue petals that fell onto her resting body play like a movie. Keith held Lance in his arms for the longest time, his limbs never tiring.

_ Lance. _

Keith chokes on a sob that comes up his throat. His heart burns, but not with anger. With this dark, endless, violent sadness. His nose quickly becomes congested and he sniffles. Massive waterfalls comes down his cheeks and he curls into himself. A noise that sounds nothing like Keith escapes him.

Lance is dead. 

He’s dead and Keith didn’t even get to say a proper goodbye. He didn’t return to him soon enough, and now he’s gone. He doesn’t even know where his  _ body _ is, he just knows he held it and felt anger. Now those couple dances, slow or fast, are gone. Those happy memories now have a space for sadness to balance it out, but that’s not what he wanted. Hell, no one wants sadness to balance happiness! It shouldn’t  _ have  _ to, it shouldn’t  _ need  _ to. Sadness plagues the moment he watched Lance twirl in front of him on those dusty streets to their last dance together. Sadness fills in the blanks of those few days he took away from Lance and overflows on the day of his death. Keith watched him take his final breaths and he couldn’t even cry. He couldn’t even tell him he  _ loves _ him.

And at that thought, a boulder crushes him. It’s been hanging by a thread over his head these months, and at last, it’s cracked. His tears stop flowing, and he’s happy.

Keith loves Lance.

He always has. Ever since they began walking those Altean streets, he fell head over heels for him. The smile they exchanged were more than silent “I love yous.” Behind each of them was a deeper meaning, an “I care for you” or a “I don’t want to be apart from you.” Each dance move was a pattern of their love for one another, and the music was just there to accompany it. More than anything, he wants to twirl Lance under his arm, dip him, and kiss him back. Say that he loves him too. Travel the streets of Altea with Lance, move to new cities with Lance, discover what it’s like to be a couple. He wants to wake up every morning, either on a wonky bed in a small room or under a tent in an alleyway, and see the oceans come to life right before him. He wants to whisper in his ear that he love him so damn much, and then tell everyone he knows that he loves Lance. He wants to spend the rest of his life with Lance.

But he can’t. The happiness is temporary and is replaced with that dark sadness. The love for Lance and the sudden realization that he can’t spend the rest of his life with Lance—he can’t tell him he loves him, he can’t watch the oceans come to life because he’s gone  _ forever _ —mixes together and it’s as if a train crashed into him. Keith’s chest tightens and he hugs his legs tightly for support. He’s crying once again but it’s like it’s on overdrive. His sobs and tears combine and twist at his heart relentlessly.

Keith was too late. Too late to tell Lance everything he meant to him, too late to kiss him like the world was ending tomorrow, and too late to save him. Selling his emotions  _ did _ hurt him in the end. All it gave him was a stack of money that barely served him any good.

Lance was something unreachable in an ideal world, but tangible in the real one. Easy to talk to and hard to stay away from. Lance saw Keith needed someone like him and halted his self-discovery for Keith. Lance gave Keith happiness and sadness and love. Lance taught him to dance and appreciate the little things. He learned it gets better, but at the moment, it can’t get any worse. His crying doesn’t stop. He trembles like a palm tree in the wind and it all hurts. Losing and loving Lance hitting him suddenly is too much to bare, and he shakes his head remembering the last words Lance said to him. Now he can confirm he was right.

Keith is the richest man in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!! i would love to hear your feedback! i love comments and kudos. i hope this is liked lol.  
> i have a tumblr! but i also never use it, i'll like some posts once every few months or something, soooo you should find me on twitter instead! it's new but come talk to me anyways i'm up for anything and would love to get to talk to you all!! i also made a spotify playlist for this!!  
> twitter: riverdancee  
> playlist: void of feeling


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